Scalene

December 24

Scalene

Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it. I have looked longingly at oddness and every skewed thing. Though I try to divert my gaze the acute angles draw me back to peer again and again. Strange attractors have an unexplainable beauty to me. The wane charisma digs its hooks into my soul and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide. What does this say of me, I am not sure? What does it say of the sidelong loves of mine? Volumes, I think it speaks volumes, all of it unknown to me.

Collect friendly faces

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WHAT’S LEFT AFTER HOPE RUNS AWAY

shoes and socks

old post cards

tennis balls with no more bounce

memories that have lost their fun

dreams left in the box

earrings with the clasp askew

things I’ve said

dead thoughts, too

stacks of books

letters written

tender feelings

wonder---smitten

the pain is left

and runs around wildly

my face is stained

and left untidy

I can never fill the space

Which hope leaves behind it

The stage is dark

And everything quiet