Thinking About an Ex Lover at a Good Gig

greatsadness

A great sadness, by which I mean
a sadness that was great
came into my lungs and kicked around –
the pleasure in grief.

Beside him in autumn, with trees
crying leaves the colour of ale,
a version of me will remain forever –
the grief in pleasure.

An asthmatic, he delivered insults
in breathless staccato –
as if God switched his mic off
when he got too offensive

which was often. To breathe
is to live, which is to feel pain
and pleasure. He was angry at death.
He’ll be angry forever.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s