Wednesday, February 8, 2017

upon Kit's departure

I get
that impulse
to close no doors
to write no epitaphs
to cut no cords
to keep that glass a little full

to hold on to very fine sand

I too enjoy spiting gravity

(‘cause Gravity—
You’re a punk
And you got it comin’)

I sympathize
a search prolonged
being unsatisfied with ‘good enough’
or even being unduly satisfied with it

We made these very futile gestures
and even overtures to these futile gestures
Before, During, and After we realized we’d lose you

And it causes me
for whatever reason
 to take stock
Of how many tables we’ve thrown over that we couldn’t turn on our rivals
The curtains torn down that offended us
though fiercely draping ourselves in the one that offends the competition
because we still forget to put on our own clothes most days

How I’m not bothered
turning over every stone that looks to have a fact beneath
and avoiding each one that looks like truth
I’m all over it
I have that covered
I do that
I do it
Even now without your Cheshire grin to embolden me
     to turn it over again

And I’d be that flawed, messy, sincere human all over again
So long as you did it again with me

Now then
a couple of years from now when we meet
The reality of our shared daily existence for five entire years
(save those months you had to go home to do your dissertation research)
Still the fondest of memories
Still one of the greatest gifts for which I’d never thought to ask
But the visceral essence of it sadly faded

We will yet still be operating off of the training we received from one another
Like rats still pressing the lever for a snack 
though they haven’t seen the inside of that cage in half their lifetime
As evidenced by how automatically we’ll slip into our fairly crass appraisals
of those who
get it
quite like we do


like no time has passed at all
nor ever would again

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