Note:

This blog is going on indefinite but temporary hiatus for various reasons, some of which involving other projects on which the writer must now focus. The writer will start posting poems once again sometime in the future.

97. It Shouldn't Be a Promise

It never mattered how many

times you could

repeat my name, nor how

many times I came upon hearing, but

it mattered how you

said it, whether I came willingly

or as a promise is kept,

and whether or not

any of this was right.

96. does it matter

you know there are matters to
be discussed, things to
talk about; why
are you pretending them into existence

why does it matter then

95. A Curious Thing, Fate

I’ve never quite been one to

believe in superstitions, least of all

the ones people invent for themselves,

but

the precise way our

lives have wrapped around each other,

led on by a series

of coincidences has made me

consider that

some sort of foreign luck has made it so and

that we’ve been

wishing to some unknown spirits of

our own design, and perhaps

maybe a few

stars

aligned in such a way so

that

we’d tangle into them and into each other.

94. A Failure

what a [funny[ thing this is,

a house that was meant

to burn (as soon) as

built and

            that doesn’t really

            take the blame for its bricks

            and whose

architect signed in the cornerstone

“anonymous”

93. A Mends

We could, you know, take any

chance to make a/mend a

couple passing fancies that we never

stretched out [be]for[e]

            Could you now, could you really

            reconcile yourself with something

            heretofore nonexistent?

{my, the world’s an amazing place}

92. isn't it

you know even the stars in

the sky couldn’t save you now not

even if you asked them

and promised them the entire sum

of your potential

because nothing really is going to

save you now

nothing you can look at or count on

            it’s just you and the empty dark now

            isn’t it