I wrote the letter
I wrote it and wrote it again
I rewrote the letter
still it would not fall for me
gracefully
I am let down by my own words
my own mind
I cannot transform these thoughts and feelings into
regimented strokes of ink between
orderly honest lines

so I fail even at this
blowing the whole show open
finally putting an end to it
fucking myself

I'll try again to write the letter
and when you get back from Africa
you will have it waiting for you
then I'll play havoc on my friends
or disappear altogether

I went running again this evening
my bones and muscles still aching
my feet bleeding
it still makes more sense than any other thing

I was propositioned by a beautiful woman this morning
I told her she didn't love me
she is only 22
that's far too old to be falling in love with anyone

come back to me when you're sixteen and blind
I did not say

As soon as she does not want me
I will get into her