Tell a truth, or tell a lie

I get hammered, forget you exist / there’s no way I’m forgetting this”*

That city turning pink
in the sun’s slow descent;
the night air still vibrant
yet gentle now
                      as if
in its old age the day
had finally found a way to be kind
& calm without losing all passion for
the fire
          of summer; 

your hair, shed like feathers discovered in

my bed,
a mess of tresses untangled
& tangled again. 

Now all only a memory

of a scent & the slope of your shoulders
at 5 a.m in the morning; 

photographs of long lost days

when we still adored each other,
before the decay became
                                       poison: 

the silence, the speech, the years of peace

& warmth
& war
& lies
& tired eyes
& not fucking any more 

& bored

            so bored
of the performativity;
                                another
dancing monkey
out of sync with the organ grinder;
a comedy without laughter,
a tragedy without despair,
only anger.
 
 
 
All this & more now lives below
a gravestone with no
inscription,
 
our dream decaying
beneath the surface.

 

* Scott Huchison