Will I have to relearn everything I


once taught myself about stability and sex
once what is dissolves into what
once was and I'm left standing in that spot where
once you said, "why be friends with exes if it's over?"

over brunch and I looked at you, mouth half-opened, mouthing
over and over those words that seemed so
over-pronounced and under-considered;
over seemed too large a place to ever place us under,

even if all was ripped apart by blue lightning, I think your eyes, blue and
even as they are, steady as they are, would be hard to look away from
even if the stars burned out and left us stitching ourselves up
even-handed as our shattered hearts allow,

what could I teach myself once it was over;
when even time calls love a liar?

Comments

  1. This is going to sound stoned as shit:

    I was reading yer poem, Bendi, in my gmail on my phone (the worst way to read a poem in the history of poetry) and the author displayed as "blogger." For the surrealist and longest time, I thought I had written this and somehow dream-posted-it. Weird. And awesome.

    P.S.--
    I'm in love with the uses of "even"

    ReplyDelete
  2. The brunch scene, the brunch scene, the brunch scene. Yes.
    "mouth half-opened, mouthing
    over and over those words that seemed so
    over-pronounced and under-considered;
    over seemed too large a place to ever place us under" ...
    Yes to all of that, and love "over-pronounced and under-considered," and love all of your uses of prepositions. They speak to my (your? our?) inability to place myself anywhere infinitely, or even ephemerally, because broken hearts go fucking everywhere.

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