thoughts of thinking

 

my head feels like a
martini,
            shaken
                     not
                        stirred

thoughts of thinking
                 how absurd
                       is absurdity

like that last conversation
between the two of us

               you were speaking
                     Mongolian and I,
                                Cantonese

the space between us
stands there bewildered
and scratches it's head
silently

love is a lot like a plateful
of eggs over easy that
never quite made it to
the over easy part

from the other
room

I hear the humming
  of the air conditioner
     in the window pushing
       back against the summer
swelter

we've been together for
a long time, that old air
conditioner and I

        I guess that I
          should be grateful
                 that somethings
last