by Gary Percesepe

i  miss you

at times unbearably

a dull ache that won't quit

never believed i could feel this

again  &  look at me talking to this screen

hopeless  the worst thing the need to confess

every five minutes   as if there were not enough

to bore the hell out of a nation easily distracted 

bp and haiti and palestine and other disasters unrelated
to this feeling of utter hopelessness brought on by as simple

a thing as the sight of you in a hair band  a scraped knee  a child
in latch key  my heart a collapsed staircase  a clump of curated  crystal