New Winter Palace

{poems}

9.29.2013

Postlude: Days of Being Wild



Eventually it's just you
not really trying to decide.

Partitions of rain shroud the
heavy summer days

making them subdued, as if there's more
night outside rather than less.

Every time I do this
it's vague, trying to pilot the action

walking in the back streets
under cover of darkness

but that's not so terrible
if we've been programmed that way

forgetting we’ve taken each other’s
souls, the other side, projected from our eyes.

Maybe a bit of time goes by, you wouldn’t
know yet what I’m talking about.

You wouldn't have to wonder.
It wouldn't mean that much.