out of it

he said that

inside us

is what is

the stuff that

bursts stars

and

bakes cakes

that sees you unloved

and so deeply stuck

in it

that fuels by being fueled

by being

and that which isn’t and doesn’t

like those few moments of attention

the permeable exaggeration of isolation

where there is nothing else but you

even if there is

when you are dancing alone in your room

with the gods of wine watching wild and jealous

when you are on the last subway that is usually packed

but holds no one save for the usual blisters of bums

which include you tonight

you who is offered a drink

you who rejects it

for you gave that up

and you who is told

that there are worse things than drinking

when you are making love to a woman

but thinking of another

who is thinking of another you

when you conceive a smaller you

an inside turning out

a thought to an action to the lack of it

when you fight with her for the dishes for the laundry

for her

the her you remember

that he holds pieces of – eyes, cheeks, the green-grey eyes

like heavy clouds spilling light

after a rain

but the whole is jumbled and messed with you

when you leave right there and then

swearing to no end

that this will not be an end

when you say to an open road

barely carrying an echo

that this is the life

though there is a carcass of a raccoon

or is it a skunk

you were going too fast

in a path

even the bugs don’t visit

when you get older and older and older

wondering what the heck the whole thing was about anyways

because if this was it

it wasn’t much cause to be

when you are older than older

which you are old enough to know

that you cannot remember how old that is

when you are there dying with wallpaper that already did

last season

and a plant that smells of urine

while the stars grope the night

and gobble a laughter

that others below will call a smile

for they have moved in

young up starters

with the world ahead

of them

into this new place

where some old man lived inside