Meditations on Sugar, Spice, and Expiry Dates
Gods, I’m glad I was introduced to the like of Frank O’Hara and Kenneth Koch. Not that I’m magically their equals, but at least I have a map now. I know what to say for when I’m in states like this. Unrelenting affection for people I love sure is something, ain’t it?
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You're maybe not everything nice, but that's fine.
You're not an ideal nor are you ideal—
not a great start, but let me finish.
There's a start of something, not new,
familiar like home where I can lay.
You're what I'd keep if I had to leave all else—
warming me against the cold and dark I made up.
In clouded negativity where I occasionally
wallow, I am saved by every memory of you.
Light is the dull and obvious analogy.
You're more an epiphany reminding me
why I choose to be here. A kick in the gut
telling me I should be here, otherwise,
assuming faith, the afterlife
would be pain and regret.
Though Eden is a scam, entropy, unfortunately, isn't.
Hourglasses
run out of sand.
Neither of us
around for Christmas parties.
Unalive you,
unable to ask me for little favors.
I, now gone,
crushed that I can't do anything for you.
Our ashes,
inevitable.
Luckily—knock on wood a hundred times—
we're not crossing yet.
You still smile. Though I don't say
you always should. Your laughter follows,
permeates like blood in water.
I, not a hunter, follow the trail
known by heart. You never ask me for
whatever you want but know
that I still give anyway.
Despite chance, time, and ends,
the choice remains. So here
I remember you.
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