“Pluralities,” Ralph Adamo

I hate that you are on the other side this evening

If I go somewhere to cry for you how will I stop

I hope this finds you well. It’s been too long.
I said when you were already gone.

Listening to you talk
over there is like
listening to water

I compose
you are here
music breaking whitely
one track crossing over another
to reach disaster

Shooed from the blues I stand
against one breeze
and feel the summer’s cascade
buggy and wet in my blood

I a sunken man with an old nose and long eyes
used to the way little becomes less
unprepared for bounty
whittling sorrow down to its toothsome size


The little house of my dead first wife
blows me a kiss as I go past
on wheels, the sidewalk cracks
one more lame joke to boot, and
then I am on the other side, again.

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