Wednesday Words (Part 1). Since then there’s been a change in the tides of my mind.
The resinated end of the cigarettes I abuse
look like the excavated remains of my wax-paper blues.
Useless, stuck in sheets, like those empty balloons,
I’m starved for a feeling only brought on by you.
Corraling conversation from small or big screens,
the actors never say what my weeping ears need.
The friends never ask why I’m (finally) going crazy.
I’m addicted to Love (not of self)—-and I’m fiending.
The banjo won’t tune. The guitar just won’t do.
The keys are too small. The uke can’t play blues.
My voice will not rise, half-thoughts won’t combine.
The songs? They un-write before the ink dries.
You told me you loved me at five in the morning.
The joy in acceptance is now the joy in forgetting?
The teary-eyed smile is now a picture once taken
Of an odd, autumn day in a world we’re both lost in.
