"...A HEAP OF BROKEN IMAGES. . ."

She would sit beside him
like a distant constellation

trying on what it felt like
to be human.

He observed her
through the telescope of his hate

as if a scientific study
of her distaste

would make her more
understandable to him

but
it didn't.

He remained earthbound.
She an ever expanding universe.

At night they lay like grey
alabaster effigies on a tomb

the close but not touching
classic cliché

except for the cobwebs joining their hands
the odd broken fingers...the chipped chins.

Both pious in the death
of this their marriage.

They tried to resurrect
their long ago selves

who had ate up all
the promises made

before vomiting up
all they had said

like drunks unaware
of puke in their hair

Now *** was engaged in
although boring beyond belief.

He said nothing.
She cried.

Affairs offering little
or no relief

from the prison
of their bodies.

Both their lives
like kitsch touristy souvenirs

gathering dust
on an un-dusted shelf

tatty flamenco dancer
chipped porcelain matador

how they saw
what they used to be.

As if life were a cat
and would with a swipe of a paw

knock them off
broken upon the floor.

How two humans
could come to such an impasse. . ?

Don't. . .
even ask.