You go to your Corner, I’ll go to my Room


t’was now on an unrelated matter
between glasses of Pinot Grigio –
gourmet meal with mosquitoes and traffic –
and I wanted to say to you that –
but chose poetry as the bullet (no fatal
shot there) which left a wound

possibly mathematical symbols tattooed
on the silverware would have sufficed
though I can’t imagine how – shotgun
scatter of outcomes for each event –
or a smattering of smart philosophy
leaning heavily into the Kant be done

If the complexity of a buck’s rack
were based upon the age of the deer
our marriage would be impossible
to unwind or lift – as are all the words
and phrases we’ve burdened with
so much meaning and intent

that they’ve become meaningless