In my Grandfather's filing cabinet,
in a file of ancient Loose papers I cannot find
a "proper" place for.
Here it is....
(there's a lump in my throat--fuck, *shakes head* of course....)
_________oh, she called again
when she said she would not
and she painted him with lavish metaphors...
___________________too much spent ink
on the sum of letters
_______________that were his name
___________________she's older now
and should remember chaos past
______________________________the hangers she's made of faces
to hang unholy dreams
"all from too much wanting..." she mumbles
She can have many
________________________and for a time that is enough.
But the sweaty grip slips
The Ancient Record, skips
_____________________so sweet to swallow
And she scrambles to recover
_______________________simply to discover
who fills that emptiness
though with time and travel she has forgotten,
_________________that this emptiness
________________________________is not an orifice
and cannot be filled quickly
_____________________or by anyone.
May she wake one morning
and after much coffee
to the tepid realisatioin
that the dark spot she claws for
in the shiny eyes
is a reflection.
I was twenty-one.
I was much much wiser....
when I was twenty-one.
*smirks at herself*
(and Friends...it's TYPED, on typing paper....
real keys. A ribbon. Ink.
Why yes, I do save every scrap of paper,
why do you ask?)