lost

 

i’m lost without you, did i mention that?

i scrape my brain cells that hold the memory of you

the way you remove dead flesh from a heel

and i keep the skin cells in tiny glass jars like portable museums.

 

i carry them everywhere for emergencies

opening them up at dinner parties

while the normals are concentrating on the cooking method of a spatchcock.

 

i pull you out from my secret purse

hidden under socially self conscious tables

and i roll your flesh in my hands until you’re real again

while nodding in agreement that thyme and lemon jus is always a wise choice for a side.

 

it’s a stupid ritual really.

one that serves only to widen the divide between me

and that big chance Buddha moment:

‘being fucking present’.

 

such a noble pursuit

always dull and motionless in your absence

like a train station in those quiet despair hours

between 11pm and tomorrow.

 

Btw, if you see a girl running that’s me

and i can assure you

it will be from this chance for godhood

what all those new agers bang on about.

 

‘the now’

that cruel catch phrase forcing a focus

on critical choices made on a whim

(now examined under moth encrusted fluorescent beams)

suddenly now, regrettably dumb.

 

my heart’s a cowboy

too foolhardy with the lasso

that hip gun too

always going off

each time you’re not in view.

 

Did i tell you you i’m lost without you?