[multi-purpose com] post: {a LIFE poem}

gardens and growings and

times and rhymes and 

herbs and 

thymes and risen bush [rose:

nary] a love i then didn’t contemplate.

and so this poem serves, in its 

uncertain sincerity, a 

murky multiple of 


poses: first, to make 

be clear – as clear as can

be – that

though mad as hatter i could

seem to all 

stage and play,

i have a [w]right to 

my feelings of weird,

even where consummation 

only ever 

can consume my


and second, i have the 

right to the 

misery of moments: for

this is how i see the

beauty of 

whirleds around me, as yous 

sample and trample their 


sence and sensibility, until

your inability to

true that wooing – which 

i wanted so much 

to touch you

in dublin 

with –


end my dreams 

and appears 

and [s]creams sheer.

and so finally, also,

let me my delusions, 

please: for in

my hands

they are my only

[ill]usions of 

better times and

signs and goddamn 


i love you, dear rose, you see and read: 

and the first time 

i saw you was the last time

i see you as stranger to the me

that is my life. 

and ever since 

you abandoned me

i am simply …

… lost, much only to

my cost i 


and ever since 

you left me 


I become that sleepy 


“Waiting For That Day” by George Michael on Amazon Music. 


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