I remember times I thought of calling,
but then stopped short after some reflection.
See, sometimes I get that feel of falling
and can’t help but think about our connection.
Soon, though, I realize my delusion,
which is a step in the right direction.
I’ve always struggled with love’s confusion,
which led to many kinds of rejection.
I sit down and put these thoughts in writing,
which you might think is half-assed projection.
But really it’s my way of inciting
a muse-less artistic resurrection.
So this is my way of self-protection:
poems of love with no real affection.
Just warming up for Valentine’s Day, y’all, with this sonnet that needs a lot of correction.
I believe I’m Nobody, nothing new,
those mirages I’d just never believe.
It’s why you so easily bid me adieu,
and then hardly took any time to grieve.
Of course, I could be Anybody, too,
a face in the crowd, a drop in the sea.
But, really, whether it’s many or few,
an Any’s a No who’s part of a We.
And so I sit here and write for no one —
anyone who’s Anybody won’t read.
Once, I thought I might catch your attention,
but many words have nothing on one deed.
Emily asked if I’m Nobody too;
I asked just to be Somebody to You.
Do you recall that one I wrote you back
when I was a good guy and not some fool.
Or do you think I’m just a clueless hack,
despite that piece you considered a jewel?
I wish I could still weave such lovely odes
but I seem to have lost that ability.
They’d flow from my heart and soul by the loads
and you loved my poetic facility.
But those days are gone, returning no more
like the friendship we shared like no other.
Necessities fall from where my heart tore,
each poem bloody Invention’s mother.
I’ll never admit you were ever my muse,
but for some things I wrote, you lit the fuse.
Was it really that long ago,
when the music washed over us
like a warm breeze off the ocean?
There in the dark I closed my eyes
so imaginary sand wouldn’t seep into them
and tears would not weep out.
Is it really so long ago that you
“wow’d” and wondered how I knew
so much about this and that,
and nothing about you and I?
I stopped wondering long ago,
after I “why’d” and answered
my own question. I still sit
in the dark and let the music
wash over me, but now with
eyes open and imagination shut.
It’s another day which might
as well not have a name.
Each of these expanses of light
compared to the next looks the same.
They’re just a period of hazy
darkness on the way toward night.
And night’s a chance to escape
what I cannot face come the light.
But even abed I see too much, of what
my mind uses to break my heart.
When sleep finally comes, it lasts but
a moment before dawn’s new sadness will start.
And so I move through day and night,
all the same save when an owl might shout Hoo.
Life’s an empty space in which I grope
with no one to hold my hand without you.
I was never comfortable wearing
such look-at-me accessories,
something I’d sport like
a flashy ring or a silk tie.
No, I’ve always hidden
what so many wear as comfortably
as a tee shirt and jeans.
To do so would expose that which
I am uncomfortable showing.
It seems like such an expense
of my life force that might
better be spent on something
I might find more important,
like squaring up the towels
folded on the shelf or
feeling guilty about not doing it.
But sometimes the mass
of my world’s sadness, grief, fears,
loneliness, loss and even joy,
push down upon what I keep
in that deep well within me. And,
like an Archimedean experiment
gone messy, my emotions squish out
from under the weight, displaced
after so long lying misplaced.
I can’t abide a mess like that,
for too long, but I accept
the physics of life and try not
to judge myself too harshly anymore,
most especially if a tear might fall
where you or I could slip on it.
Such accidents happen, like yesterday
and the hundred hundred yesterdays
I hope someday I can see you
and you will recognize me,
not as this man of stooped posture,
melted face and numb presence.
I hope someday you will see me
as the man who loved you like no other,
because there will never be another
for me like you. Never.
I hope someday we can talk about
the time we missed, the time
you were taken from me and the times
I died a little more inside each day.
I hope someday I will recognize you,
since time and distance can change
so much, even the love one can feel
for the one who taught them how to love.
I hope someday there will be a day
that we can be together, when past
is forgotten, future is unnecessary
and I’ll never need a someday again.
Each today will be our someday