I live in a dark coal-de-sac
giving off Bonnie Tyler sparks
the Rod Stewart of loneliness,
feeling heart arch at Market Basket
I go up and down elevator
music with hooks
and loops bringing
back Ghost and Word
Modern interlacing
ritual and food
in my head and in our
breaking bread
Why do you think the feast
is movable?
Weekend food shopping;
stocking; cooking some,
but most of it, wasted,
rotting away even with
modern coolness
It's just me. It's just she
The time is gone,
the nest is empty
wish I had something more
to say
It's just Dad visiting
every weekend
to sit with his daughter
to watch his granddaughter
play soccer
It's just Mom cooking
a minor chord meal,
nothing like the Major
meals of her missing
older Sister
It's just weekend sushi
or Pho in Simi Valley
modulating one
Key memory to another
The voices go
ghosts fade
and yet the ritualistic
love persist in my
looped head in my
OCD play
at every meal
repeatedly self cutting
our geometric thought
Elements within a Euclidean
subspace