All my beloved eloquence is washing away, in a moment
to be gone, evaporating. A big old mouth, for sure, but
nothing to say speaking, yes, but not communicating.
When did I trade my stride for this convalescent
soliloquy? Did I bury it, or did I bottle it up and
toss it into the sea that laps behind me? You'd
recognize my funny face from miles away. I know I
couldn't fool you if I tried. But pecked apart and left
for dead by birds of prey, I'd leave interpretation
open so wide. All my beloved indifference is washing
away. (It was never really here if you'd have noticed.)
If I give you a map and tell you, 'Point out the Bay,'
you'll point to California or to the Dakotas, 'cause
you just have so much more fun when you're clouding the
issue with reverie and confusing it. But oh, I'm losing
it will you remember me from Mary, Katrin or Brie?
We've been digging through the trash behind the
Masters' home and they've thrown away some perfectly
good rice. Huddling in the darkness, glimpsing faint
moonlight on chrome just to be alone with you is
something nice. I shiver like a crow would warm her icy
wing as we leave those cans beside the Masters' shed.
You observe aloud, 'The Masters don't know squat about
recycling.' I think of all the funny bits to that which
could be wed and I go beet red when it hits me
suddenly that I've been so flat with you. But when I
wake up in the morning to eight hours of sunlight on
another lonely day, i'll realize that once again
infatuation has turned gray. Yeah, you'd recognize my
pretty face from miles away. I know I couldn't fool you
if I tried, even if my hair was done up for some Sallie
Mae or in a million barrettes it were tied. I could
have died when it hit me suddenly that I'd been so flat
with you. But with the morning's clarity I've realized
that if you'd wanted, you could've voiced it, too, what
we maybe both were thinking.