too tired to sleep…

“closet doors don’t close”

And that’s a cracked door
I’d thought was closed.
Guess it doesn’t matter, though
a good part of me wishes it did.
You can’t make every door stay
closed.

When it cloisters in, close
to that “long time ago” time,
something like a bare foot
is shoved
between the closing door
and the frame;
all the while the
light in the room tries
like hell to shine
through the crack.

If it was a question
of forgetting an unpleasant
goodbye, I’m sure it could
be forgotten. Easy enough,
that is it’s easy
to forget the small tragedies.
Only those tragedies
greater than a certain size,
capable of a certain amount
of personal destruction,
get lionized by constant homage
and continued prayer.

All of this is weighing down hard,
hard enough to make it tough
to breath with.
Acceptance feels so meaningless,
like agreeing
that tomorrow, things
will be just like they are today
with a lttle more space between
mistakes and their causes.

This door can shut. I’ve
seen it do that before.
I shoved all of the leftovers and
most of the memories into
a tiny closet.
So what if the trip to the beach
was touching the airport
absolution?
I always pick the worst time
to care.

Hear the latch catch.
Certification of closed doors always
comes as a far off click.
This time it echoed off
of faraway mountains,
just loud enough to get
through a bedroom window.
Some nameless couple needs
to hear it.

Just holding on to that feeling
like “we blew it,”
except it was all
forever and a day ago;
ancient history.

And that’s a cracked door
I’d thought was closed.
Guess it doesn’t matter, though
a good part of me wishes it did.
You can’t make every door stay
closed.

—————–

dedicated to the fine girl who always lent us her car and was a good and kind soul. there are never enough of those types around, but I’ll never forget your kindness.

inspired by someone else.

(dedication & inspiration are two different things, and each is as important as the other.)

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