Of Endings

A good ending leaves
a) you hanging
b) your senses benumbed
c) you slightly worse for the wear.

It can make your head spin
faster than the fastest top;

a maelstrom of emotions
that correspond to self-made
dioramas of the past.

It can be as conspicuously
inconspicuous as the w
in answer, or as dubious
as a new beginning.

I’ve always been wary
of that last kind.

Hour Five

Serendipity

It’s hard to be understood.
You know what I mean?
Of course you don’t.
You’re just a writer.

You know what I mean?
The darkest secret is no longer dark.
You’re just a writer.
A bubble bursts in the universe.

The darkest secret is no longer dark.
Of course you don’t.
A bubble bursts in the universe.
It’s hard to be understood.

Hour One

Small Talk

A brick wall had been
erected between us, and I
began looking for miniscule ways
to start chipping off the layers.

I imagined what the wallpaper
would look like; flowers in spring?
a splattering of red? cranes and sticks?

It didn’t matter.
At least, not yet.

You slid beside me
in bed and we awkwardly
laid there for several minutes —
words refusing to unstick themselves
from the roof of my mouth.

We made small talk that inched
into the night and I laughed
my old laugh — the kind when
I’m with you.

I asked you the questions
on my usual checklist – and you
answered them for the millionth time;

that was all that mattered.