Present

I got nothing but words
hiding up my sleeves.
They're tangled and tricky
and
temporarily
they leave my tongue tied
in dos
and do-knots.
So, you see me silenced
and stopped in my tracks.
You're a metaphor
that's gone too far.
Unfortunate am I
to be choked by a lie.
Wishful words whimper
inside the distance.
They don't bring you
any nearer.
They won't make you
true.
False starts
and finished ends
make up a history
as time bends.
But you would never see me,
not nearly as I see you.
I won't place you in the past tense,
but then I need you as my present.

**************************************************

It's about missing you one second, hating you the next, hating myself after that, and then letting the whole cycle repeat.

It's not about anyONE. It's a pattern.

It's about some other stuff too, I guess, but that's the gist.





"Blue house dress, fading fast with time and age: a metaphor for where I let us go. Will we rise again?" The Miracle Of '86 Two-Color Pattern