Poetry

Rescind

for L.K.

I don’t need read receipts to keep me accountable: we’re in a groove. I might meet you at the it’s-been-too-long-time where you have a new job as a teacher and my AC/DC shirt is finally holey and faded. these moments where we cram each other between the sheets of two chapters. where we provide pep talks for the next. I with you were in the chapters, sometimes, but you fit so snugly between them and it’s meta because you are in the chapters between the chapters, written in invisible ink on the blank pages. maybe I’m going too far with this metaphor. maybe I think about indulgence as I’m shuffled into the next pages. that’s not true, I glide into those pages, but I wonder if I should have spent more pages with you. that’s not true, I’m greedy for us together. yes, that’s it, I’m greedy. yes, that’s it.

I had dinner with you and a Greek cast of warriors going off into oblivion and looking fine doing it hung on the wall over our heads. many warriors have crappy reasons for fighting. when we meet we ask each other what’s kicked the crap out of us and what’s put it back in. and, in an allegorical sense, I’d rather be the wise, sedentary wizard putting crap back in than the warrior who takes for granted the space between the pages.

©Daniel, 2024

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