reflections on disappearing …

thin-skin skirts

now there ain’t a word left to say.
guess we talked too fast; maybe
ran out of words. you stalk off
without a word, busted bullshit
promised sans excuses
for disappearing on me. i
don’t know where you went.

torpor on summer days,
perfect for illustration,
maybe institutional illusion;
that’s just how it has to happen,
whatever you were
trying to say is past tense said;
no call, no show;
did you notice changing themes
plastered over braille paragraphs?
was it on purpose?

truth means i played my part,
sanitoria illusion that boots & skirts
need water to swim, same
as the rest of us. i wanna be angry
instead of confused. when you
moved the curtain to practice your
coelacanth impressions,
i was blown away.

now i’ll never hear the end.
knowing for sure
you’re shaking tail-fins in
prehistory, while rod & reel & tackle
belie any sighting of your
blackened skirt; off swimming,
avoiding sharks,
eatin’ minnows,
disappearing when i’d been waiting
on you to apparate.

maybe tomorrow;
same thing i’d said yesterday,
what i’ll say later.

dedicated to the two people who decided to up and disappear. Just had to let you know I was still thinking about what you said. Hope your free time illustrated whatever it was you needed to see.


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