Direction

The notice reads that we are closed
And everyone has been contained 
Overrun with sweatshirt days 
Shining lights 
The pressure mounts—

The clouds are disregarding crosswalk signs 
A pair of overeager bicyclists, and me,
Waltzing in a leather dress 

I would as well have been a victim of the lightning 
Or have drowned inside a stream 
Because I have remembered,
Before you flew away, 
How I nourished your illusion

Gazing at the pain that would not go away 

And so I wonder what it’s like by you 
How you’ve been a nightmare Warhol painting
A man who once would walk his dog 
Conjugating German verbs in Portuguese 
And somehow my elation races back to you 

And yes, I have since sold myself to quite another 
Loyal, uninspired, true,
Some paradigm called greener grass
If I have learned a thing of happiness from you. 

This is quite a brooding temperament 
That every time I try to write 
It is your voice that’s dotting all the pages
This was to be a poem of a plague
But you have stolen it 

I have read through all that I have left of you 

Concussed amnesiac 
Better that you knew. 
I need a glass of water 
Inside it’s rather stuffy