the grip of love is presently
nothing to be frantic about.
the same music plays through exploding
Indonesian wars and dreamed
deaths of close young friends.
I slept twice last night or
there were two of me
or all three of us were one
remote heartbroken center of gravity.
he wanted to get back with me
only it was much more complex
than I can explain.
my separation paperwork stipulates
a group therapy thing in January.
he finds me at the library curb
with a terribly upset kiss or
the kiss wasn’t upset and
neither was I but there was a
serious language barrier.
I propose Xanax in many ways.
those with whom I’ve been intimate
and usually formed some sort of
soliloquy of untapped friendship,
that game we are always playing
is extraordinarily long thin and arcing.
