she asks me why everything I write
is depressing and not
happy--
I tell her I
only write what I know--
she left yesterday,
I dreamed we were
together
she dreams of other men--
men without souls
these soulless
masses of
skin and fat and bone
who will never know the sadness
I
now
feel
because they are hers and she belongs to them
I watch a fly bash it's head
against the television screen
I turn it off
the fly leaves
everything
leaves