What are you saving that stationery for you freak
those golden days
when you will be at your escritoire?
dashing off cards?
bent over loving letters?
those days aren't coming
No, somewhere along the line those days have been changed into
stupid dreams nobody wants to hear about
it’s not your fault
the world will do that: take a turn
which like a horde of bullshit butterflies
changes everything.
Everything.
And then what had seemed perfectly reasonable
in terms of plans
is transformed into
ridiculous jokes
like sitting in a chair reading a book
or learning Italian
or as I’m saying now
sitting at your desk
and writing me a letter
in which you will say
(in ways only you still can I bet)
how much you miss me
and really appreciate the slow but steady progress
my poems are making
if we can only dodge time’s preemptive terror
and butterfly bitch-smoke
i bet we can use up our stationery
but we gotta act fast
don’t think about it:
just grab a card and write ‘c u in hell’
and put a stamp on it
just write ‘Wake up asshole’
don’t even sign it
I’ll get it
and I’ll read it
and whatever it says
I’ll know what you mean
