and just like that
I turn a new page in this time of fever
he has returned to the hole he calls home
at last the city is mine again
I can feel healing bloom beneath my skin
and still I strive for alternate consciousness
indefinite oblivion
When I was younger I felt heart ache
and wrote poetry
but in this limbo I feel nauseous loss
and the lack of poignant grief is too empty
and too terrible
to
pour
onto
paper
there is no elegance in divorce
no dignity
no star-crossed lovers here
there is only the cold conviction that all the nights
I screamed helplessly into my steering wheel
raging at the empty highway
tellingly
honestly
publicly
meant nothing
to either of us