Intimate Emptiness – A Poem

 

Intimate Emptiness

And in the confusion
in that rattling din of despondency
there was Miles Davis
playing Amandla
over the stereo.
A common singularity
threading together the
distancing lives.

“There is a sanity in his music.
Something soothing
that never wearies the soul.”

Yet let’s forgo foregone conclusions.

There is a guy
and a girl at the counter drinking
and between them lies
an intimate
emptiness.
A marriage
perhaps
with a house and children
and pedestrian
sex
driven on and lingering through
an obligatory desire.

“You are a bastard.
You know nothing of them. And just
extend yourself
into other people’s territories. You will never understand.”

That is true. There is a jealous
taste to my words.

But look at the smiling man.
Large and
boisterous
he works the room
to extend his illustrious views.
His slothful
opinions.
He is a true ram
that one.
I bet his feet will freeze.
Yes
a fitting metaphor but
no
truly freeze this winter
with frostbite
clutching his toes.
His frame too large
for the small bed he made
and passed out on painkillers
he will forget to
turn the heat on.

“Please, please. Let’s speak
of pleasant matters.
Life is too awful with you around.”

On the patio the men smoke
smile
laugh
and discuss their house of cards.
How they posed it just right.
Waiting now for it only
to collapse.

“Stop. Oh you sweet dumb bastard. Just end it. See
now the song
is over
and it was the one pleasant thing I had
here.”

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