Simple Math

These people
were asking about me
marrying you.

There was yellow.
There was light blue.

We’re not Swedish
but it was Summer.

And they asked
if I still think of you.

I don’t think you’re in
any mental space
to understand how
all these exchanges
are delicately computational.

Lofty clouds off in the distance.
A kingdom that’s become
or they
never existed to begin with
for the
sacred realm of words
up there

that materialized
and echoed today.

There is disease in my heart.

My consciousness is a dance each day.

A beat that is slow, bad and good.

An apple
I remember eating atop Astoria, Oregon
while bathed in sunlight.

At least this was not you

. . . so I can somehow still live.


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