if this is the gift
i don’t need it
i don’t want it
i’ve learned enough
i’m patient enough

hard-water stains mock me
they’re there, still
coarsely grimy
and perfect

i’m here, polite
easily forgotten
and flawed

this isn’t the gift
this can’t be the gift
this swollen solitude
this fish-like aloneness

these women slip through my fingers
like cloying filaments of a fading dream

how do i keep myself awake for me
how do i keep myself …

…awake…
…askew…
…awkward…
…aligned…
…alive…

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 8th, 2008 at 9:54 pm and is filed under poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.