The way it ends


My hands are slowly shaking as I’m shaking out this protest

Fractured claims that we’ve been making with faces out of focus

In the picture frames that cut the heads off

Of the couples that we speak of

Using as examples all the people we don’t know

Cold cement cementing purpose as I’m finding claims to call

Foul on the descent of the falling of the cowl

Drawing back the slack of curtains and revealing light of day

And I’m certainly uncertain of the passion of this play

Ennui-oh it’s me, and I have a perfect body

Oh a body of my work-you jerk

And jerking down your protests, I’m walking out the door

Like so many scattered roses-crushing petals on the floor

And hand to wrist-you catch me, and pleading eyes say stay

And other hand-it pushed me, and I’ll be on my way


About Keats

Oh I'm sassy and I'm sexy, So silly sweet-and-sour Delightfully disastrous And deliciously dour I'm flippantly foolish, Filled I am with fear Can't concentrate completely, and my conduct isn't clear But to bravely be my best I Bring bravado back, BEHOLD!

2 responses »

  1. Someone’s been busy today. So many new pieces – glad to see you’re really rolling on the creative front! I guess a day of snow and Michigan-induced solitude will do that to one…

    As to the piece, a solemn one, faintly throbbing with remorse, regret, loss…it speaks not to a longing, to a hope, but from a sense of experience regarding a relationship ended, or ending, gone…It sounds like a wretched place to catch oneself. Passion or logic? Which has guided the action? We ask ourselves and pain ourselves with the question as we march toward the conclusion. It looks as though one does not want it to end, but as you say, with the other hand, doing naught but pushing you away…such potent sadness.

    Keep up the fine work!

  2. That’s how my work goes sometimes, just floods right out of me, and it’s all I can do to keep up with it… Other times I want to write, and I know what i want to write ABOUT… but I end up being too clumsy to say it.

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