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April 26, 2018

The night lights: a certain glow,

I see the lights from my window,

I’m warm in interiors as night falls,

Once, this was not the case,

Once, I could not be stopped,

But, at every turn, I struggled,

. I’m at peace in interiors.


Once, I saw all the city lights

From a window. I’ll never see

This view again. A rented space,

A rented apartment, of a love,

She’s now long gone. It only

Hurts for someone else is now

In her space. Her prior space,

The space: a horror. The view: a wonder,

The girl: something else. Now, I’ve

Another …. I will have another,

Maybe tomorrow, maybe not,

I’ll see her when I see her,

I leave the call in her hands,

Unwisely, but, she’s a special girl,

Elisa …. forever, Elisa. A dream,

A name of dreams. Big eyes

Behind unneeded glasses and frames,

But, you’ve your reasons. I know.


Walking the streets, the dark streets,

Never a leisure. Peopled spaces,

I walked the streets to find peopled spaces,

In peopled spaces, I craved an exit,

Gaze glued to the exit,

You miss me?! Never in the moment,

You miss me?! Now you don’t see me,

I’ve no more to add, when it comes to you,

You changed for me. Now, I’m absent,

Now, you’re aligned with a scoundrel,

I don’t care for her, or wish to see her.


I’ve done enough. I’m at home at nightfall,

I am easily fatigued. If I can, I read,

The books of loves, etc. Today, I’ll go far,

You won’t recognise me from today on,

This suits me; this suits me in a suit,

I don’t wish to be seen: invisibility,

Always hoping for invisibility, at nightfall,

I’s always the most conspicuous

Despite best efforts. The fabrics ….

The fabrics of the fools, in poor taste,

In poor form. All much the same,

They’re all twins, identical,

I looked them over, with spite,

The boy at the door, he knew me:

I wasn’t a twin, and glad,

Learn that you’ve a thing or two to learn.


As night falls, I’m most alone,

My claims that this is my wish are doubtful,

Elisa …. To pass evenings with her,

In her company …. a dream,

Dreams, of old age, of suicide,

Of suicides before mine,

My life before me, it seems much too far,

Much too long. Much as this

Piece has gotten away from me,

Elisa, or Maud. We wonder,

Maud, an intriguing, strange specimen,

Elisa, selfless, self-sufficient,

The opposite of Maud,

But Maud, still ….

I’ll dream of Maud for all time ….

Maud or Catherina, a weekend ….

I erred, or was there ever a choice?

Maud, always near, always too far.


A story of three women,

Always, stories of three women,

The lady of mystery on the street,

Four women. Saturday, six o’clock,

The lady of mystery steps out,

But ever so briefly …. I miss her,

Always, I miss her. Which one sings the blues?

Elisa. Maud, a precious, jolly thing,

Always much reserved. She’s not much for me?

Not much for me. But favours ….

An endless need of favours ….

And nothing for me. Maud ….

Shall I see her again?

I’ll see Elisa tomorrow ….


But, the lady of mystery: the one,

This, I know. But, Elisa ….

She shall be the one, despite all,

What to say of Maud?

A foundling lost,

And I know she’s lost, and alone,

She need not confirm,

She ended a period of woe,

With no realisation,

Always aloof, charmingly.


Elisa knows me well, from afar,

Though she’s near, always,

She likes her tranquillity,

Which is often, too often, broken,

She’ll like my evenings at home,

Though she’ll leave all the same,

She’ll wake me upon returning,

But with a smile, all is forgiven.


The lady of mystery ….

A depressive’s poetry

Cannot win her,

I’ll slip it into her bag,

She’ll find it at home, and wonder,

Just who is this poet, naïve and all,

Why does he not speak?

Ah! He can, but not directly,

He writes me sonnets, this poet,

He knows not my language, not perfectly,

But his faults …. adorable,

But, when shall we meet?

He holds the key, or do I?

If only he’d speak ….

His precious words, next to my bed,

All wondering, desiring love, and all,

But we’ll remain, forever, epistolary,

And we’ll remain all as such, despite loves ….


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