Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 24


Scalene


Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it. I have looked longingly at oddness and every skewed thing. Though I try to divert my gaze the acute angles draw me back to peer again and again. Strange attractors have an unexplainable beauty to me. The wane charisma digs its hooks into my soul and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide. What does this say of me, I am not sure? What does it say of the sidelong loves of mine? Volumes, I think it speaks volumes, all of it unknown to me.



Collect friendly faces


*
WHAT’S LEFT AFTER HOPE RUNS AWAY


shoes and socks
old post cards
tennis balls with no more bounce
memories that have lost their fun
dreams left in the box
earrings with the clasp askew
things I’ve said
dead thoughts, too
stacks of books
letters written
tender feelings
wonder---smitten
the pain is left
and runs around wildly
my face is stained
and left untidy
I can never fill the space
Which hope leaves behind it
The stage is dark
And everything quiet