You’ve gone a luminous blind.
Your paper street: more potholes.
You hide your meaning behind a parasol, spinning it (white flurry blur).
In this forest of misconceptions,
Although I guide you to the nearest blackberry bush,
While you are sustained, the sunlight is hid from us
By these high conifers; the words
We say have no echo.
I’m not even the diner waitress I used to be: “How can I help you?”
Said like, “You know where that coffee pot is, you refill it.”
You say to me, blackberries don’t grow near pines. We starve then.
God’s around us, Kami in the fern shadows showing us everything is
Sense or green, past “known”, the puzzle tumble of Midnight’s Children.
You explain something for over an hour. And we walk.
I escape your eraser-scrubbed logic (you’ve made a hole in the paper) or
Something more helpless: let’s say misfired synapses–
Something chemical rather than free will at work,
Showing itself for a series of selfish decisions.
I desist or damn us both, cut out
The overwrought way I speak, dressage instead of western–
At least you were interested in the intricacy. However,
It’s no use pretending I’ve gotten either of us
To the door of a friendly apartment,
In a city where the lights are on all hours,
Where a door will click; we let ourselves in,
We can get a glass of water
Or sit in a chair. No. We walk all night. Finally,
I take off my coat and lay it down
There, over earth. So? it’s dark. And birds loop
Nearby, watching. Crow feathers like crow feathers, darker than the sky.