The Whole Damn Thing

Katie Falk

too much imagery
resonating memory
I
  am
       at
              a
loss for words
yr idolatry-darling artsy imagery:
indigo girls- high flutes and a motorcade of 
strummed guitars 
incense-nag champa- hemp
burnt candles and callused fingertips lighting
matches lighting
cigarettes
yr words- spewn forth with hardly a 
breath in between 
spewn forth
in between java script and 
java house slams- cool blues
yr sister's hippie kitchen, and jazz, and sonic
grooves
yr critical political pictures placed just so
perfectly off center, places 
I've never seen or barely remember- like
the picture plane eight hours wide-
Israel son,
and I can't explain why
it just does it for me- yr tapestry of 
ideas and revolutions flutters like the one
covering yr window,
sends me all a flutter and buttery, sends me 
melting at the sight and scent of you
I break the sacred seal, and now, desanitized
d r i n k
the entire bottle of water, quenching and 
quieting my thirst
thirst for nature and neutrality, thirst and 
lust for life-

I drink the whole damn thing because I 
ponder a wander to yr bedroom floor 
to stand my ground 
to attempt once again to answer the unanswerable:

why? or better, 
why bother?

yet it is too long a walk from yr floor
to my door
and there is too much at risk-
my heart
yr fist
so I slink
back to my desk and pay homage 
to the loss of you and to 
give my aching brain a rest-
the rest is simple.

I have played yr instrument of heartbreak 
for far too many years
and I have learned all too well how it
speeds passage of my days and ways-
the unfortunate result?  I'm an expert, 
a weeping mawkish fool
this glorious occupation I do loathe,
(and frankly, I kinda hate you, too)
I long only to ball up nicely all the pages 
wasted trying to recover from you, as
this illness is terminal
temporary relief is only provided by 
crawling
into bed with the sceptre of you-
not actual you, the
you who let his guard down
from four to eight am on January eighteenth
eastern standard time-
the date and time in which yr cover simply
disappeared…

and you were left with nothing-
save me, asleep
encircled in your arms.