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spysgrandson Aug 2012
would be easy to bemoan blue Monday
but for me the downer is usually Sunday
for I am incapable of not peering ahead
drearily anticipating Monday’s dread
and knowing the day we name for the moon
will be here eye-blinkingly soon
perhaps since earth took seven days to create
Monday will arrive ignorantly intestate
left for all of us to build upon perfection
ripe for us to engage in insurrection
with the simple picking of fruit from a tree
and the loss of blind bliss for all of thee (and me)
so Sunday marks the end of a white beginning
and Monday is only the first black inning
of a game where we all run from base to base
but always return to the same selfish place
Sunday before blasphemous blue Monday
written last year--still haven't been writing much lately
yvonne cleland Sep 2015
‘We’ve got chemistry. She laughs at my jokes’, you said.
You slayed me with crassness. I imaged me dead.

Body brain jerks with racked cravings for you
as days upon days, and nights without break.
I willingly grew an addiction to you.
I can’t white the black or forgive my mistake.

I began to need you. All else fell away.
I designed my defeat, by saying yes that day.

Where women were, yes there you were;  
oozing charm like hot melt summer sun.
Those rabbits in headlights; blinkingly
they burned, flap-fluttered, couldn’t run.

She’s kicked you out once. Did she notice you hunt?
Did her heart die when seeing her end?
How can she know you better than me?
How is she more friend than me, ex friend?

You’d never survive on your own, big man.
You don’t even understand bills.
All you know is your stage and your fans -
how to extract the maximum thrills.

I now zombie glaze-like; undead. I howl for my friend and my lover.
I wanted to keep you like real, but living and high highs are over.

— The End —