Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Escrow Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Friday 2/24/2006 11:53:00 PM

It was bright. Like it often is when you pull that curtain back. I thought it would look the same as it did then, but it was so much paler. Two corpses looking at each other with eyes unblinking and crumbling throats. Even if we knew what to say I don't think we'd be able.

It was hard to keep the gravity intact. The closer I get to remembering the lighter I feel. That the ground is letting go again. Like it used to. Slapshots to the face. Naked goaltender.

Real estate. That's what he said. And I pondered the notion. Trying to picture him selling anything other than himself. I love him. I always will. Every flaw. And sometimes he knows this more than others.

Because I remind him.

In those little ways.

At least one of us should know what it's like to have a friend.

Real estate. Because this is as real a state as it gets. Buy it. Sell it. But you don't need a license to own it.

This empty lot I confess.

You had me at hello. But goodbye was all you ever left me with.

Real estate.

You took a mortgage out on me, but you never paid it.

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