Sunday 10/15/2006 12:14:00 AM

Three days later. I sat wondering how I'd hurt him. The scuff of lovers against swollen hearts. We staggered every seam, but still the floor decided not to support us.

I thought the truth must be wrong. Because it's only ever betrayed us. Distracted santa claus's caught in chimneys that suddenly stop. Before the fire.

It's not funny, but it is. How easily I chip his veneer. How the song in his eye endlessly skips on that, but glides right over all the grooves he's cut in mine. That plastic curtain breathes with one side and forgets the other. It's just the other side. It's not there until we need it.

Three days later. Living in the belly of the whale. I was ready to be digested. It's like trying to walk on the walls. Talking to him. Don't touch the floor. It belongs to him. He's all splinters. And it's my job to get them.

Three day later. It wasn't that he was gone. It was that he'd never been there.

If only three days were all it took.

To forget.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.