Empty Pocket(s) Unrequited Boogaloo
Amidst this terrific torment of torturous,
baffling prevarication, insinuations of sainthood
growing growing in the ground, the sacred ground,
(& so blessed it be),
I called out for your love, but
miles and decades worked against it, as my best
irrationality was way short of my best trauma,
stumblin' over the best importance that a foot
would ever be likely to find.
I never asked for your
admiration, though it was bound to be a topic at
some remote confluence of rivers way, far away.
When you speak to me in dream-talk, it sounds
as if i weren't even present enough to know which
end was being ruined.
And so ruined I am, (from
either end), as life progresses to it's folly, and I'll
never know if you ever loved me in those brief
moments, now that we'll never chance to be