I
feel your agitation or rather I hear your name. You wonder
About
the future, while carrying anxiety. We chase dreams
And
live so partial, jumping jacks in the grey. I wrestle with
Ghosts;
and there you are, saying, “Me too.” But we’ve
Never
shared a Coors, and we’ve never gone the distance.
But
I ponder an argument, even a controversial poem. I imagine
Memoirs
fraught with depth, and I imagine a secret dying
Freedom.
Cycles generate growth. I pray you’re not alone in a
Crowded
restaurant, eating and mourning at strangers. But
How
have we treaded clouds, followed pain, and popped a pimple.
And
never could I hold your hand: the grief would ruin us. I
Drank
and slept, and churned and cried. Something is pulling
Us:
something deeper than science. And oh for skepticism;
And
oh the knowing; and oh the anger. So I pardon a cynic, and
Bleed
a diamond, and something says, “We’ll meet a rose.”
