Why does my body ache
more than ever now
Not just because I am rounding
the bend yet again
but because I am as celibate
as a moonless, starless sky
I am the cassette tape
snarled and eaten up
in the dusty boom box:
Prince & Michael Jackson
are now dead,
what’s left?
What seems a normal place
is odd to me now
I plan and plan and plan
& then plan to plan
but can’t get out of the basement
of bashed up things—
because he is mad at me
blames me for stealing
& doesn’t want
to ever see me again, again
This is a good time
for abandonment, dear silent,
cold universe with stairs
that go nowhere,
where are you taking me?
Like the twisted cassette tape,
so ceaselessly unwound,
what is the order?
Photo credit: Pexels via Creative Commons