1
Every year it’s the same damn thing.
It’s constant
this dull, red ache.
Rains come in & stop
just when you think
they won’t. Long afternoons alone.
2
I feel things that aren’t there
to be felt; we have
no lasting city;
we have no ref
to say who’s right or wrong,
no umpire to say when we’re safe.
If my heart had knees
those knees would fold;
I’d admit it all
before the finger points.
3
A flimsy curtain separates
memory from imagination.
Do I remember
a better life than this?