As-Yet-Untitled

If you are not over it by now you probably should be, but
there are issues with that sort of thing;
how do you know how to grieve for someone you
hardly knew? (would I even have a right?
They did not belong to me)

And if you are not over it by now you really should be, you know
the sympathies of these people have dried-up
(it really would be better if you left us until you are more 'settled')

And your friends do not miss you- Oh, they say they do
(and they mean it, really)
but after a while they forget your way of saying things, or
whether you'd have an opinion on such a matter and
they manage quite sufficiently without you-

it is the same with grief. A piece of your face
is rubbed-out or left in a drawer
and the blankness it creates is replaced with other people
who are nice
(and are you sure you are more settled now? we have never
seen you so sullen)
The overwhelming sentiment is 'We Care. We Care. Let Us Care For You
From A Distance.'

I have become the epitome of grief, a silent judgment against what I was
and what I am.
Yet all I seem to do with my time now is sit and say
I am not, I am not

I am not.

Monday 15th March. 2.39 am.

I would love to say that I understand what you are going through,
but I would be lying; it has always been easy for me
to pretend I've forgotten the things I
said/did/wanted in a moment of weakness

you know I always focus on your bottom lip
(and only your bottom lip-
as if I'm hanging a piece of myself off it)
when you talk.

and as if that were not bad enough, when you blink
your eyes make a wet clicking sound like someone
turning off a lightswitch with a sponge
(and I've always thought you are too thin)

but I wonder if it is bad that I read the things you have written
on the back of old receipts and traced on windows
and ask myself if they are about me.

and I cannot (read: will not)
let it out.

Friday, Date Night.

It was Date Night, so we watched a film, and I
was struck by Those Passionate Embraces,
and I said 'we never have kisses like that;
never feel as if the world would
end if our mouths weren't touching just then'
and you said it was just a film, and anyway we
weren't as attractive as the people in the films
and we've never fucked up against a wall in public
either because nobody does that in real life so what
does it matter?

but I now wish it hurt me more
that I didn't kiss you then.

Last Night

they tell me it can be
a combination of things-
chemical imbalances, a lack of love
during my childhood, or that
I do not love God enough.

I want to tell them it is none of those things-
that I cannot stop thinking about her mouth
and the taste of her name against my teeth.

On Selfishness

She sat there and told me 'Death is not as bad
as heartbreak' and I was so angry I bit my fingers
all the way down. That she followed it up with 'Grief
is very selfish' was no real surprise; if I knew how to use
my tongue I would have told her then.

My Priest asked me 'Are you not crying at all or
can you not stop crying? Tell me which it is so
I can explain that that is the perfectly normal
response.' (this exchange would be perfectly plausible
if I had a Priest, but alas- I have no God, and no
mouth to call him with.)

It is hard telling people, naturally, there are many
times at which it would be inappropriate-
I imagine telling them over vol-au-vents. Salmon
and lemongrass half-way to their mouths they freeze,
tongues glutted, and I down my champagne with a
flourish.

As if you are my trump card.
As if I do not remember your arm around my waist
and how that felt.

Lurgy

This brings out the worst in her/me/him/her
No-one's really sure. But it definately brings out the worst
in someone.

of course- you were not there. you did not see it.

I don't remember
how it started. Or rather- I pretend
I don't remember how it started.
Actually, I'm too embarrassed to mention
what actually happened


and I have so much more to say, and I think
"I must tell her/him/her this" and then remember
that I can't

I imagine she/he must think "why am I here?
what have I done?" but, of course, that would
assume that they read this
and that they understand the meaning of divorce


It's like a death. A tiny, insignificant,
miniscule death that only you have noticed-
a man lies in the middle of the road with a bicycle wheel
through his/her sternum;

a woman steps over his carcass
to get to the bank.

The Door That Opens And Shuts In The Manner That Most Doors Often Do

...

A man sits on a bench in the park talking
to himself in verse, and all the passers-by
ignore him, because he is mad

and do not notice that he speaks honestly
of the sound of the sun bleeding
out of the sky

and how nice it is to feel couplets
dropping off the edge of your tongue.


The ducks hear him, too, but they
also ignore him, not because he is mad
but because his verse is widely considered
to be very poor


and in the distance, a door slams shut.