untitled #413

the interesting thing, i find,
is the blinding light that accompanies
every grief.
wrote poems, never a mention, made pictures
it was acceptance.
Had I read the letter closer,
the lines that said, “accepted it”,
I might have done nothing different.
one imagines in that
a venerability – vulnerability (
     I did
)
but it is only ego; it is decided:
it is painful to live – from time to time.
I’m not a true believer in that last lime,
because all the flavors of Margarita mixed together:
i said i wouldn’t write anymore,
and it was heard:
despite writing, they were never read.
well,
i drew a picture instead.
it will never be seen:
NEVER
it was. a drea.
and not for the effort, nor loneliness,
or every beast here, big asses and all –
they dance, you know? dance all over!
I’ve woken up to it! I’ve had it here:
you should have been here; you would
‘ve loved it.
10 am I searched for a mimosa;
3 trailing behind, and YOU! (grief)
walked just before me – a step ahead