Preparation
Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2009 7:56 pm
Preparation
I’m putting on this tie in preparation
For the dinner we were meant to have
Three months sooner, that I left
Hanging, late again.
Soon we’ll eat and talk and wonder
What we could have been if we’d been
Prompter, bolder, less like ourselves.
More like one another.
We'll get along as we both want something,
Though we can’t yet put our fingers on it,
But there won’t be love.
There isn’t time.
After that, contagious desperation will take you,
Then me, and in my arms you’ll sense
The resonant creaking from my joints, hinging
Universes beyond potential, but
Through abundant freedom in motion
All that could have been will simply slip
From the surface of our lives,
Onto the cutting room floor.
We’re already hearing the footsteps, quicker,
Numbered day following numbered night.
There won’t be love.
There isn’t time.
I think I’ll leave the tie.
Original
I’m putting on my tie in preparation
For the dinner we were meant to have
Three months sooner, that I left
Hanging, late again.
Soon we’ll eat and talk and wonder:
What could we have been if we’d been
Prompter, bolder, less like ourselves,
More like one another?
We get along and we both want something,
Though we can’t yet put our fingers on it,
But there won’t be love.
There isn’t time.
After that, contagious desperation will take you,
Then me and in my arms you’ll sense
The resonant creaking in my joints, hinging
Universes beyond potential, but
Through abundant freedom in motion
All that could have been will simply slip
From the surface of our lives,
Onto the cutting room floor.
We’re already hearing the footsteps, quicker,
Numbered day following numbered night.
There won’t be love.
There isn’t time.
I think I’ll leave the tie.
I’m putting on this tie in preparation
For the dinner we were meant to have
Three months sooner, that I left
Hanging, late again.
Soon we’ll eat and talk and wonder
What we could have been if we’d been
Prompter, bolder, less like ourselves.
More like one another.
We'll get along as we both want something,
Though we can’t yet put our fingers on it,
But there won’t be love.
There isn’t time.
After that, contagious desperation will take you,
Then me, and in my arms you’ll sense
The resonant creaking from my joints, hinging
Universes beyond potential, but
Through abundant freedom in motion
All that could have been will simply slip
From the surface of our lives,
Onto the cutting room floor.
We’re already hearing the footsteps, quicker,
Numbered day following numbered night.
There won’t be love.
There isn’t time.
I think I’ll leave the tie.
Original
I’m putting on my tie in preparation
For the dinner we were meant to have
Three months sooner, that I left
Hanging, late again.
Soon we’ll eat and talk and wonder:
What could we have been if we’d been
Prompter, bolder, less like ourselves,
More like one another?
We get along and we both want something,
Though we can’t yet put our fingers on it,
But there won’t be love.
There isn’t time.
After that, contagious desperation will take you,
Then me and in my arms you’ll sense
The resonant creaking in my joints, hinging
Universes beyond potential, but
Through abundant freedom in motion
All that could have been will simply slip
From the surface of our lives,
Onto the cutting room floor.
We’re already hearing the footsteps, quicker,
Numbered day following numbered night.
There won’t be love.
There isn’t time.
I think I’ll leave the tie.