After the breakup of our
Carnival of the Animal
my plans lay for a while
gathering dust
at the bottom of the press
like good time memories in a
bunch of silk flowers.
Have you noticed how the
gravity of lust
when rubbed up the wrong way
bends time and space in
quarky modes?
When I was green and lovelorn
a straight line was the
shortest distance between two pints.
In my sad and grizzled
anecdotage
it registers only as a flat
line on my heart monitor.
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