Sunday, April 17, 2011

Month of Poetry, Day 17

Your poem
hollows out
a lonesome
core inside
of me

A deep,
yawning
abyss that,
really, has
been there
all along

Neatly
covered in
smiles and
laughs and
biting sarcasm,
and more
acquaintances
than weekends
to share
with them

Your poem
is about
someone
I knew,
once,
briefly

And though
I recognized
her right
away,
she would
not know me,

And even
if she did,
I could
never know
anyone the
way you
know her

That
knowledge
makes the
rim of my
emptiness
crumble in
on itself,
hunks
breaking
away and
tumbling
down long
echoing trails
till all sound
fades away

She saw
something
in me that
even I didn't
know was
there

Or maybe
she just
pretended

I lean over
the edge of
that hollow
and call
into the
dust, ask
how it is
possible
to be
jealous
of a poem

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