poetry, word

After Word

What I will mourn most

It’s not you hair or your buttons

But what I didn’t tell you

And if you didn’t tell me 

One day I may wake up

when you’re no longer listening

I can’t add to what’s said


And what if 


I cannot add any more, anymore. 

To what will be said. After or before.

Theres a book that I wanted you to write in

You took it. You liked it.

You hid it. On your shelf.

But you wouldn’t write 

Not with your pen

Not to me

And again today I heard your words

Thrown into the air, on to the screen

For the many, the them

Generations and followers

As I lick up the bread-dust

Gleaned. Unbeknownst. To you.

As I lick inside my cheek

I think, how weak, I gave myself

To you.

This number doesn’t work

And this picture doesn’t talk

A distant phone letter

What am I to remember?

What this ever was?

Must I finally learn to see?

That’s all we had. A word. To see. To be.

That it really was invisible



When I wanted you to feel 

When I had you here

There are no more words

That are worth devotion

When I can’t find yours

When I can’t find you

Even when I honestly knew

I never really had you

Any way 

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