Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Untitled No. 4,000,007

I always sit on this side of the C train
Don't think of it until Chambers and
I can't look for you at the station
Staring at the tiled "CHAMBERS"
It's been May to March, God,
almost a year already and yet
every. day. i. look. for. you.
imagining what I'd do
Imagining what I'd say
Would I lose my shit?
Attack, black out like the convicts
claim they do
Come to and find a pile of lifeless
flesh in a puddle of blood
Would I pretend not to see you?
Or approach you, ask you pointedly
What, exactly?
I still can't untangle us
I don't know myself in relation to you.
There is no exaggeration in the statement,
"You lied about everything."
And yet
there is another truth
"I still love you."
Incongruous, dichotomy
Nothing makes sense if that is true
And it is.