the 1st of a hundred goodbyes

there will be no more words passed between us:
kent state is only history and you were never really Allison Krause
I accept all the pertinent blame
It is not your fault you were not who you seemed

but next month is October
my heart is torn free of its bone cage
even death is possible in this dark rain
the rock music is a knife its edge flourescent with my blood

we are too old for fairy tales
but I cannot just go hide
you take your nice husband
and your assistant manager's job
and your dissipating memories of ireland
and your one night stands
and your candid acceptance that life holds only death
and I will remember you and write these suicides on dark afternoons
with an image of you, in flame, burning


Ancient poems of loss. There are a number of these and I will put them up. Historically they are from the period in 1976-77 when I tried to put some distance between myself and this girl. It didn't work and I spent many more years trying to be more than her friend. She led me on. I danced. It was a sort of relationship. I am embarrassed by it now, recognizing I should have dealt with myself more honestly, and with her more honestly, also. But, there are a number of pieces I like in this stuff. And if it reflects the infantile romanticism that formed the basis of my life in the seventies, then so be it.