there may not be enough time in the end for all of this waiting. we may lose our place.
where does one start, which beginning is most appropriate and can we begin at any time?
is there a certain pre-determined number of chances to be received
and does this number change if the initial results of taking such chances are too costly?
telephones will remind me that people are there. they may be different when not over wire.
every bit of cement that we walk over will be just another thing that we shared, and
you may end up on the other side of town with your hands in your pockets, and
i may still be sitting here on this curb examining the skin around my fingernails, and
if it were supposed to mean something then both of us were lost.
and this is just, i assume, how it were meant to be played out
appealingly so, as casual as a sunday afternoon, yet equally taxing nonetheless
canvas shoes, chipped nail polish, exposed flaws
times spent looking for the sun out of jacuzzi eyes, wet open pools
the various ways yours may crease at the sides while you smile or frown at me
different creases being the way to determine which rule had been broken and
giving the answers away
thinking about other people when we are together, when you look at me, who is it
what do you make of me