If you are not dead
you are far from me.
If you are not dead
you are knocking on
some other sucker’s
door. Perhaps he is
in debt and in love,
cursed in similar
afflictions. Perhaps he is
up to the eyes in hedge funds
and stock investments,
his symmetric face smiling
down his checkbook at you,
attracting you in ways
mine never could.

If you are not dead
than perhaps you
are happy.
If you are not dead
than perhaps
you are sad. I certainly
will never know.
Do wedding bells ring already?
Do the long nights of love
break bones in bitter morning?

For a long time this imagination
proved worse than any reality
could have possibly been;
I lay in fevered dreams,
praying for answers,
only hoping to find
where love had been lain to rest.
Now, it is just nice to be rid
of the whole deal.

The universe makes
a lot more sense
without you.