The after maths [of tree]

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 

up.  

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 create, 

and restate, 

and recover,

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 sold, 

all told, 

all bold it was.

A love so mad

abandoned!




Goodbye!

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