words, words, words

hindsight

you come too late

couldn’t you have more

hindsight to avoid

this the next time

so that i have don’t

look behind to see

if you’ll catch up

*

if history speaks

i suppose it’d

note the kiss on my cheek

and apologize for not

making it so i could see it

and that i was relegating

whatever was left

to the invisible passage

of little bit less

little bit lesser

each day

until i and it

waddled into

the stuffed silence

of history together

*

some poetry

is the

sum of poetry

and after reading it

one can only ask

why is there more

why is there this

why is there i

when i was already

born and dead

elsewhere