she doesn’t live here anymore,
he said
she’s gone to some kind of war zone
it’s loud,
he said,
like a school,
remember the school playground?
then I heard thunder
like for 40 minutes
like a day of southern massacres
and then I couldn’t get her out of my mind
outside ya know
where life looks like life
interior and vast
on the rooftops maybe
or in the canals
in other fields of freedom
or reasons why
in our old arenas or Victorian rocket ships
she was still there
but then I landed
in a restaurant
in a grotesque caricature
in a mid-western drama
where I guess it got a little dry
and she was gone again
like a dressing room plan once played by ear
I don’t know
we once joked around
we chose
we put it out
like the ones you love to hate
like street people
who you always condemn
yea it bothers me
but she won’t change
like a second novel chopping
like an old friend
wow
whose time is it now?
besides, ya’ know,
who wants to hear it?
maybe I wrote it too early
maybe it was an arrangement that I didn’t really know?
anyway it just didn’t sound right
I guess we were full of surprises back then
when I used to read a lot
now I don’t do much of anything
just short features
with a few friends
it’s quite good
but there’s no plot
no beautiful film
just death …
cos she’s gone.