how mixed can the signals possibly be
when i make it a point only to see you once a week?
listen, you sweet, sweet boy
how could i not love you as my brother
when you’ve been adopted with me?
but come into my room if you dare,
and i’ll show you all the reasons you can’t have me
see these photographs? it still pains me to look at them
these scraps of poetry, as recent as yesterday
that have not been written for you
songs that draw tears to my eyes resting
fearfully next to the victrola
this stack of old letters that will be in my attic
until the day my grandchildren clean out my house
memories, all of them,
that i’ll keep forever
but memories, like all good things,
must be gotten over
you see these memories are like hunters sometimes
they pursue me like prey
till i fall at their mercy
this room, once full of light and love, is a coliseum
see the bed?
all dusty
the mirror
cracked
i’m broken, boy
i’m damaged goods
not worth your time
or anyone else’s
it’s not an unrequited love for another man
that’s keeping me from you
it’s love that’s died and still twitching
you know, those death throes
before rigor mortis sets in
you don’t deserve that
you deserve fresh, young love
just born and full of hope
like spring, all virginal and green
move on
i’m haunted
i’m old
