Rituals

Withholding and who opens up the door
For whom, the chocolates (which I do not eat)
And flowers (I hate roses)
And the counting of the times you see someone
Before you are allowed to show
Essential pieces of yourself
So not to push that one away,
Or else to test them to make sure
That they deserve the next reveal,
All seems a bunch of crap to me.

Not calling when you want to call, or
You text instead of calling, waiting
The other out to try to win
The upper hand of order or in order to ensure
That you have done the proper dance
To protect yourself, so if the other
Bails or hurts or disappoints,
You can say, as you sit alone and once again alone,
"At least I took the proper steps," 
Seems awfully flat and cold to me.

This does not a true love make
In my own mind, at least, or maybe
Therein lies a fairy tale
I do not believe anyway, so maybe 
I have spun one for myself
As I believe the following:

The why of wherefore the strange words
"Test," "protect,"  and all the rest
Must be included in at all
The lexicon of love and friendship
Constantly evades me.

The reason why the process
Used on children or on pets we wish to train
To introduce them to the rules 
Of reward and consequence 
Is preached and used
When adults try and seek some solace
In another, equally adult,
Constantly confounds me.

And at this stage in the so-called game,
At a time when game-playing exhausts me,
And I, of an ilk that does not naturally
Play these games at all,
And if love is a game that must be won,
And played so calculatedly to sustain,
It's time, I think, to try
And consider a life alone.

Or, at least, to learn to love myself 
And my instinct to stay away from all the play
That doesn't feel like play at all.
No games,
No unclear and stagnant ritual,
No stupid dancing around the beauty of the truth.
For one who overthinks anything that can be thought,
I think it's time 
To do.

Changed priorities ahead (2003)

Changed priorities ahead

Of a small inconsequential pair of poised lips

Dangle like the fruit

Delicate, red,

Sincere and demanding like

A how-to manual inscribed in code

And coded for those

Already ahead one play.

No entourage to shuffle you through

While the others have to feel it out

Well, we’re in the same yacht now.

I used to hate them.

But the old woman on the sail talked me into it.

A strange little thing

That liked to gorge herself on brothers and sisters—

Taught you about it.

I’ve called on brevity

And he was in a meeting.

Insulting, but

I knew it all along in an early way

Seemingly indifferent

But that planner I wore through (the laughed one)

Was full of more than laundry lists

And the to-do’s

Were figures of destiny—

Unclear and they enclosed you

While you thought to wait in ambush.

Lucky

Beating back against the fray --
Against the unfurling confusion of the every day,
Trying to rise above,
To do what's best and to distinguish
Between what you've come to believe
Is your own dream
And what is really your own
Rather than what others dream for you,
In your supposed best interest --
Is exhausting.

Bone melting, hair hurts, forget to breathe,
Fall and pick yourself up by the carefully starched shirttails,
And the longer you do this,
The more you come to realize
That while the effort may be noble,
It has little to do with the outcome;
The outcome you are still not sure
Is one you've hoped for yourself.

They say a watched pot never boils.
They say you find love when you're not looking.
They also say the early bird catches the worm,
And while you're caught untangling such
Pervasive proverbs that all apply in their own evasive ways
At different times,
Life happens:

A series of moments,
Strung together by co-option and truth,
And in the end, though certainly
The effort is noble and makes it possible
To look at yourself in the tryingest times,
The older you get,
As long as you get up,
You see it's all a simple matter

Of luck.