four is a number I know
a number doused lead to marigold
a movement of march through
july—the eleventh
as I step past swerve footing
the place we met first(
royal exchange steps)
;july now; how sorry I am that
things way ended the way they did
—if I could be a plus one?
young stretching up longfully alive
‘I’m glad I’m the one who found you’
the ours once mine now mine again
Paths I evict from employment
‘that’s why I’m always hanging around’
a reminder of life’s sad song
;it’s been four months of
something more than nothing
(though not yet anything) &
I am stung a splinter cannot
dry the memories from these
wet London streets, o, eternally wet
How much I looked forward to this
anniversary! this longing
no girl hit me up my chin as she did
as she does again & again
if these not mine, then hers
(fluorescence highlighting all I write)
I’m doomed I’m doomed doomed
for even as someone born alone
nothing makes me feel as
she (in all life’s feathers )made me feel
Friday, July 12
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