January 2, 2017 by Wayne.
any fool can love
you (and nothing else) it is easy
like a butterfly, you
fold and rip at the seams
like clothes shorn off their posts
like the tub, boiling hot, we’re
here to conversate
about some deep shit namean
like bringing sourdough into McD
or how to make life from work and weekends
or how to fall off completely and
never quite make it back
But there’s no real self.
the present is forever.
but there’ll always be another you,
just never quite you, just –
anyone else here as lonely?
as sick of this sadness at every
in your everlasting name
the end is the reflection
so intertwine limbs and raise fasting fingers to the bread of flesh close eyes against the pinprick of colours against spherical blackness
the present is forever
but lately not in this body
(she also said it’ll be better)