only the good die young

     

the problem with escaping
is that you might end up someplace worse

after all this life is a complete mess

remember the way she looked at you
when she knew -

and your thoughts covered your face

(my thoughts, of course, were never on my face,
but they often came out my mouth)

so you

borrow a slow moving conversation
carry it into another room

where the sun shines on linoleum
and there are snippets of Hemmingway in the air

you remember Cezanne, hungry and brilliant

the accumulation of intellect covering the anger
you worked so hard to destroy

but you knew

this world was always better for writing
than living

lacking answers

we’re all here waiting for a future
that got lost along the way