Everything had a number, of course; but you had my
number before ever I had yours, dear Karen.
You wanted to break me down at one,
in order to build me up in your tall image.
And like mother, like daughter: your Claire did follow two
in grand and awfully focussed tradition of family
bent out of shape.
The hatred yous must contain for the man yous
clearly despise belies no other truth than this:
I was too good for yous, too resistant to your whiles.
And all the wiles yous had on tap were not enough
to trip me
And in this fact and feature of me, yous found
instead of friend this enemy.
I never realised how despised I was
in the realities yous
shared with each other:
the maths of your common desires to utterly
dismantle my life escaped me till the now
I now live,
and do bewilder.
And so I say goodbye to yous, dear Claire and Karen both:
no longer with a heavy [he]art of any kind at all:
just looking for the fresh start and real begin
I thought my love could generate;
could beautifully go and come
and renew – like the intelligence
which the learning yous once claimed
to impart as a starting-point
of pleasure and treasure and delight
once upon that weird time
did rhyme with my soul
and make me think of grand love with yous:
all bold it was.
A love so mad