depleted.

it’s empty and hollow now
but the ringing is still here.

there are still those moments if hesitancy
a reluctance to fulfill an agreement
that cold heavy joy that comes upon the release
and the warmth of hate that glows thereafter

i’ve done this thousands of times
yet every time it feels right
before it stops feeling right and
leaves me exuberantly empty

all those wasted efforts
lost in the humming
the unattainable goal remains unrealized
suspended are the supposed gossamers of passion and meaning and futility

do you understand now?
good, because i thought
you were inviting
and more than just overused

the discipline of repetition loses vision
and the end is known, alas, ignored
no, i don’t know where she went
up the turn or down the drain or piled rag-doll in the corner

and the white ghosts dance just beneath the surface
i beseech thee, dear, listen
a revolt in what is said
as the actions do not coincide with the incomprehension i have accumulated

i can’t turn you off
and you’re on a loop that’s playing with no tape
this cold punched feeling is as always my fault as i had pressed play
and what’s playing is a recording of me

and these warm droning spells
birthing fits of passion
allow me to slip between the rusted panes
and between the syllables, to scratch out the insinuations, implications, intimations.

they have fallen upon no-one’s ears
and the soft layers build.

Author's Note

sometimes i don't want this [ ]
but this [ ] is what i need.
because both leave me empty.
,
[8.03.09]