Sorry Is Another Tomorrow.

NO

crocodile tears.

NO

white knuckle flim flam.

NO 

slick hustle wham bam;

     sneaking the uninvited 

     around to the back door. 

NO

taking the crumbs and

begging for more. 

We threw ourselves in the pool, 

  but kept all of our clothes on. 

We never cool off.

There are no towels, 

   warmed in the dryer by our mother’s love. 

There are no voices, 

       choked with contrition, 

               mouthing prayers for our safety. 

There is only silence in this,

               iridescence of hope. 

It keeps us deaf in one ear,

                 drowning with agony

                  wet in the chest 

                  waves of sorrow-

sorry,

sorry

sorry,

     sorry is another tomorrow. 

The Edge

Your memory, a cliff I dangle from, jet black flash.  

Your voice, pale beauty, a blown out match. 

“Look,” you’d say, 

“I just want to talk to you.” 

                   Dragging all the benevolence in the room to a breathless halt. 

Someone got the wind knocked out of them, 

but who’s to say who? 

-------What an ending---------

It’s a picture of a picture, found lazy with dust in a garage that was not my own. 

 

An arm enervating out the passenger window, the sunset of an empty highway. 

The last song of your favorite album, played raw in my presence. 

We didn’t make it there. 

The way we didn’t go swimming. 

The pool black with neglect. 

       We’d just sit on the edge and dream. 

Just like the way we never found a way to say,

 “I’m sorry, there's no more waiting for me.”

The way I never learned to play chess and you never learned to play guitar.

We're safe here,  

  to just sit at the edge and dream from afar. 

((How does something feel like nothing for so long, 

Then,

      The blind tongue tie of everything. ))