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misstree
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i watch characters kiss,
feel where i should be
all heartswelled and happy,
and instead i am observing a curiosity,
not face pressed against a glass
but glancing from the street as i pass.
i don't know if i am
broken or cured,
or i both of these terms are meaningless,
and i just Am...
that's always the answer, isn't it?
slicing the apple a different way
is still slicing the apple
rather than contemplating it as a whole.
the final threads have been cut,
and that part of myself
pulled entirely within myself,
no more place for a mate.
a shame and good riddance
both at once.
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070830
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