poem of the day 06.12.13

anniversary

you call

from the shit swell

of an art festival

two days before our anniversary

and tell me you are lost

between saleable junk

and some hippie selling

his dog,

and that you will be going

to a bar because you can’t

find your friends.

that’s all right

i think

as long as you are safe

because when you left me

an hour ago

the feeling hit me that we

would one day no longer

hear each other’s voices

that everything we know

about each other

would one day cease.

so i’d rather picture you

alone in a bar

than gone from me

for all eternity.

            06.10.06