January 20, 2001

  • more than a word, but less than a poem:
    i don’t know what to say
    I feel intimacy fleeting, losing its sway
    suffocated with silence and non-response
    or responses misunderstood
    whatever was our friendship supposed to be?
    to me that pattern's plain:
    the talk, the openness,
    the intimacy indulged (or overindulged?),
    and then the fading away.
    and never anyone’s to blame.
    the pattern’s not with you
    -(or the one before)-
    it was a template born with me,
    the cost of my psychic disposition.
    my eyes get plucked out daily
    as the charge for my read on humanity,
    as the price of my seething in-touchfulness.
    yet forever it seems am i born again anew,
    in a morning of sunrises to see again
    that the world has once more repeated itself
    and i’ve lost another friend.

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