this
it’s an apology letter to the both of us
for how long it took me to let things go
it was not my intention to make such a production of the emptiness between us
playing tuba on a tombstone of a soprano
to try and keep some dead singer’s perspective alive

it’s just that
i coulda swore you sung me a love song back there
and that you meant it
but i guess some people just chew with their mouth open

so i ate earplugs alive with my throat
hoping they’d get lodged deep enough inside the empty spots
that i wouldn’t have to hear you leave me
so i wouldn’t have to listen to my heart keep saying
all my eggs
they’re in a basket of red flags
all my eyes to a bucket of blindfolds
and they’re covered with the muzzles and the gauze
you know i didn’t mean to speed so far out and off
trying to drive your nickels to the well
when you were happy to let them wishes drop
but
i still show up for gentleman practice
in the company of lead dancers
hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes