hollow eyes & all too tender

hollow eyes

& all too tender

bones

she read

got Nietzsche

she said

Sartre Kerouac

loved The Doors

& tho’ we spoke of Jim

she never spoke of the others

caught by his poetry

looks & more

the great writers too

never got a mention

tho’ I was willing

to be wrong learn more

hear another’s view

& when she left

to go on to make babies

the books were left

by the trash cans

the back door

living in sin

was living underwater

every action slow protracted

feet stuck in glue

I knew she was unhappy

hell I was too

we were doing the bumpy thing

most days nights we could

so I was hoping

it wasn’t about that

we drove once 100 miles

without one word from her

& when your first love is language

Sartre had it right

hell is definitely others

we were sick for each other

& a life living miserable

was there

if we continued

fair warning

Oedipus had fair warning

& still he made his choices

much like me & you

if we were to take the time

to think on what we do

& who wants any of that?

time spent in contemplation

of the inevitable

instead of acting no malice intent

so like Sartre

did but did not say

we act

we do

& be

what we are destined to be

not all of us motherfuckers

but proud actors on our own stage

awaiting the curtain

Places

I’d love to return to
find a way back somehow
of moments with people
in space, time
me, you, us
sitting in the sun on the grass
with no concerns
trying to get somewhere by thumb
my memory fades
on what we spoke of
felt that long day
though I have a book here
says you will love me always
if I could return what would we say
now that we know
this was but a brief friendship
the last time we met
you would not speak
reminded me
you always laughed when I spoke
of life being transitory
some existential dream
& now you are part
of Sartre’s
hell is others