I now refrain from flinging roses out of windows for you.
I say refrain, I mean I struggle to muster the energy.
I’ve stopped writing about love and stuff:
I don’t understand it. And I’m going to stop trying to.
I’d say you don’t understand me but for me to speak with any authority
I’d have to understand me myself.
You say I never did fling roses out of windows
Those were just photographs,
And every lover in this dry city is either dead or dying.
Sometimes they weren’t even photographs.
Sometimes they were rocks,
And more often than not the windows were closed.
Badly taken photographs of flowers thrown like rocks still float
All the mocking way down,
Hailing from the top windows of every empty building
In this loverless dry bone city.
released May 18, 2015
all rights reserved