Only the dead will dance with you now
marooned on the fifth floor
a waltz across the boards under the light of one lamp
to layers upon layers of dust from drying clothes
only the dead will tell you to keep it up
though you doubt their sincerity
you shouldn’t
we emerge from our rooms
in our late twenties
and early thirties
misty eyed and puffy cheeked
we ask: how did you sleep?
how did you get here anyway?
then we listen for some call of inspiration
while making cheap tea or coffee
go out for the paper
that ridiculous thing
and see it unfold
over many pages
take a look at our robes
of shrunken cotton
touch our greasy hair
kiss our eyes
that see much further
and look much better
now than ever
Maybe I should go out
again tonight?
I have spent too long
digging a reasonable grave
for you and your memory
to toss and turn in
I should go out again
tomorrow morning maybe
to slowly walk the beach
that held our promise
I might see driftwood and
you there
and move no further
stand and watch
the clear waves of
innocence
declining the shore
look at the way
these shoes lie
in the grass
look at the way
they seem to want
to wander off on their own
look at how they seem to want to be alone
look at the grass
where they lie
the brown of August
look at the shoes
off my feet
they look good