New poem out!
You stood outside the 7-Eleven, back when we first met.
My skin felt dry and tight, I itched my palms, you wiped the dirt from your knees. 1
So we made our way though grade school,
never questioning it all.
The good kids rarely did.
I am, as I may have inferred, a good man,
made of carbon, dust and hanging chads.2
Because I exist in physical form,
I frown at you now, full of mysticism, static air.
You’re no longer here.
Moving in and out like a dream
I can’t catch.
We both loved Art.
Yet, it was Math that drew me to you.3
I stand here now, by the water,
admiring the flowers you planted.
I need the answers!4
Give me a sign. Your gravestone holds no
lost art. Whisper enough for another story.
1 We were both itchy and hot.
2 It was either this or dangling participles.
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