smoking cigarettes until late in the night,
imagining dizziness in fingers.
I came home to nothingness, ghost parades, victim’s medals
settling into the morass of meaningless existence, but existence, still.
They crowded around, full of intimacy, full of expectations:
desperation of another sort – the kind that causes cancers.
I said, “Let’s knock the table over and see where the chips land!”
I, too, closed my eyes preferring not to watch the catastrophe.
Before I came home, I was home.
When she got out of my bed and went to hers,
I was relieved.
I couldn’t have imagined that it would hurt,
but a sting was there, all the same.
I wondered if it wasn’t hers, then cursed Empathy.
I wonder is a Super Nova star lonely
as it breaks into its infinite parts
and wanders the universe
looking for new experiences?