I missed—
Never mind, it was time to let go.
I used to wish I’d never met you
but if I hadn’t,
I wouldn’t have assessed what I wanted or
what I needed.

But I wish you the best,
And to eventually find her.
Treat her better.
Love her better.

But not before I,
Because let’s be honest here:
I’m too sensitive—you said it yourself.
You were never mine; a year’s worth of time
Will make you realize that.
I still love you though,
I’m still here—don’t worry,
it’s strictly platonic.

But don’t forget I was always good to you.
I will always be good to you.
But I’m better to myself now.
And even though it still hurts a little—and
This moment presses ******* the wound
You left,
I don’t regret a **** thing.

I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can **** me!"

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.

well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.

Dear you,
My heart is loudly confused by you.
The only thing that makes sense are the
ordinary differences between night and day.
I’m solidifying from the inside to the outside.
Only evanescent recollections of us so vaguely remain.
Insensibility procreates itself within me.
I suppose I have you to thank for that.
I sit there for hours wondering:
Where did it all go wrong, huh?
And I wonder—
Why did it go wrong?
The clock finally strikes 6 P.M.—
The atmosphere changes with the roar of the wind,
And oil paints of the sky, yet
I’m stuck there fixed to my loudly-confused heart, the
Crackling glass, and the ******* apathy
Coding within my bloodstream.
So many things went wrong, yet
I thought we were right.
The general warmth of chemistry forming
Into one beautiful reaction.
What a shame that is.
I know I can never not love you.
Sincerely, me.