the fool in love, or the fool
who pines for it?*

have I not sat at the King's table,
for decades of eons, eons of millennia,
the mealy taste of the poverty of loneliness,
made the sweetbitter
and the meaningless
blander still
full surrendering to slow starvation of my
humanity

denied the rise and set,
the watch and the calendar,
the sundial inoperable,
masters of none,
there are distinguishing marks
upon this victim,
who no longer recalls refusing
love

just another dusty bust
of a man tough as
plaster

the mask of
going it alone
so well adhering
no longer masked
but his first skin

unlike him,
love poems
waterfall self-destructing,
suicide by self-erosion
and thereby
an everlasting guarantee
the answer be
he
who pines
and dies a little bit
daily

losing you and it's effortless
redefining short and sweet,
a whiskey neat,
eight years, much shorter than the forever,
everyone's grand assumption feast,
wrongly assumed, love consumed,
making ***** of her and me
for believing,
and looking now,
as if it's almost
our own closing time,
the hour of our
just desserts

you lose yourself, asking yourself,
can a three legged stools
with two busted legs be
just merely rocky,
without another hand on the tiller~shoulder,
something

with haunting visions
of falling, failing, flailing,
down the stairs
victim of a stoning, or just ******,
gravity, the Blackhawk down,
the string puller, the no-reason reason

the slow descent,
so effortless, glassine smooth at first,
barely noticed, shrugged away like a small bruise,
then you cannot help to stop and forgive the incessant
wondering of how we got,
the confusion contusions,
now body bejeweled resplendent,
everywhere, in everything

you were once
a rock, a star,
with all the answers to the questions
she was about to ask,
your arm punched,
attached to an affectionate smiling,
for the perfection of our mutuality of
knowing

was her rock,
and now, quietly,
this last piece of jewelry consists of
a necklace of stones,
a choker of
glass pebbles in both our mouths

wry cry
realizing that the
darkness cracks of
busted and rusted,
are voluminous surround sound silences
breaking up,

either side of

*us

We stood together in the dark
My arms around your neck
Your's at my waist,
Whispering sweet nothings to me
Now my heart was beating twice the average speed,
but it wasn't because of our breaths mingling together
or because your full pink lips were only inches from mine
NO,

It was because my heart knew the truth before my mind comprehended it
That behind the collar hide a different man
a man who plays with me only in the dark
but in the light of day preaches the word of god and points out the sins that i'm guilty of.
Never touching me the way you do in the dark,
in fear of others' judgement;
afraid that i will ruin your  ' i am a man of god' act

I should have known from the first time we embraced,
the way i hugged you with all my might never wanting to let you go
only to have felt your one arm ******* excuse of a hug in return.

'What are your goals in life'?- i asked you
You replied- 'To show you how much you mean to me and more'
Here you filled me with a sense of hope I've only ever dreamed of feeling
How naive of me to think that you've never said those exact words  to another women.
A women for example whom patiently awaits your arrival at home.
For behind that collar hides a man who still plays the game deceiving so many then kicks them to the curb.
Well you did teach me one thing and for this i am thankful

Love is a game, you either play the game or get played,
Or you can simply take a seat on the bench.
I've kept that bench warm far to long and yet i still got played even when i wasn't  playing.
But I've had enough of being the bench warmer and i'm ready to play the game.

My head spun and
I couldn't see the
lines between
a potential problem or
dread.
I swore
I could plow on.
And suddenly,
there was a quiet moment
and it would make me realize that
the worst thing that can happen
can happen.

~

she’s a heart that is breaking,
craquelure in life's painting;
a field full of fissures,
a clouded water cistern;
the age-darkened oils,
on a canvas fading,
where sadness and aching,
in blankets of grieving lie.

she’s discovered from whence
come her friends;
those who tell her it’s
time to bring to an end,
like it’s a cake in the oven
or one’s therapy session...
any longer and they
cannot understand why.

she is grateful for those who
give space for bereavement;
who know grief doesn’t flow
on a timer or season.
but is more like a river
that spills to the sea;
though it often flows free,
there are days it runs dry.

she has learned in her heart
there's no faucet for tears,
there’s no way to escape
her soul that’s been pierced;
from her skin to her marrow,
a-ccumulus sorrow, wears
an inescapable furrow; brings
a seasonal rain to her eye.

her only transgression
this lifelong expression,
as she yearns for the essence
of what she has lost;
to her this unbearable cost.
’tis a debt without gift,
greater pain can’t exist;
yet will bear 'til her final goodbye.

this then a grace,
like an eternal embrace;
as a sky cover parting,
an internal departing,
momentary pathway to heaven;
there may be no cure for craquelure,
no end to her pain he can find,
yet he can gift her his peace of mind.

~

*post script.

cra·que·lure
kraˈklo͝or,ˈkrakˌlo͝or/
noun- a network of fine cracks
in the paint or varnish of a painting.

this is part of a small collection of poems i have written for my wife each anniversary of her loss.  for the coming anniversary i began a meditation and reflection on pain and our aversion to it.  we have become a world uncomfortable with pain to which we have no answer;  pain that a pill or a therapy session cannot fix.  unable to know how to stop it, we fall prey to trying to either ignore it or stifle it.   yet pain is the beginning of compassion, a vital human emotion that is our answer to suffering.

Sometimes I wonder if you still think of me,
In all the ways you used to.
Eyes wild in the moonlight,
Thoughts escaping in sentences too quick to process.
Shy chuckles,
Hands too cold, waiting for yours.
An ache for adventure,
You knew exactly where that lead.
Sleepless nights we'd sit beneath the stars,
And wonder if all of this was just a dream.
I hope you still think of me,
Because I know I think of you.