poem

 We Come To LoveWe always come to love alone.Nothing left but a self thatWe ’re tired of lugging around.We come to love unloaded,Having dumped some ballast while The rest had a way of just falling off.We lost interest in thingsParticularly the ones that stopped matteringAlong with a few that still do(Like fireworks, like backflips).But we kept persisting, twisting keysTo start cars stripped of engines.Just gaze into a mirror some pre-dawn morningAnd you ’ll find something else has fallen away,Maybe that silvered eyelash or your last sliver of shame,Some crucially defining detail you remember from yesterday.Time distills, de-differentiates steppingStones into soft hexagons of spongy moss.The wisdom of age conjugatesAlgal slurries for excretion.We come to love empty handed.Nothing to offer, nothing left to give.We ’re dead broke.Nothing in our pockets but matches and couplets.And we've burned through enough good willTo cloak the sun behind a slate gray smoke.We come to love untidy, unkempt,Disheveled and unshowered.We ’rethe ones asked to leaveWedding feasts, told to pack our things,Shown the way to the nearest exits.We ’ve walked away from jobs,Ripped up gold-embossed certificates,Turned our backs on money,On rewards, on applause.We ’ve left all the bosses slack-jawedAnd friends holding empty burlap bags.We forgot the stamps on all our thank you notesAnd omitted the return addressesFrom the backs of the envelopes.We ’ve driven cars over cliffs,Plummetin...
Source: Buckeye Surgeon - Category: Surgery Authors: Source Type: blogs