these foolish things

the sky was blue when I smiled.
and you know what?
(no, no, you don't)
it felt sort of good
(tolietotheworldagain).

and there I was,
thinking you were poetic,
but all you ever did
was quote the
favourite songs
that had left my memory
(and all that jazz).

the leftovers
were Chinese takeaways
and old used familiar chop
sticks. the kinds of things
that no body would
ever touch
again.



the end.


you gave me brackets
and "brace,
lets"
and broken,
convulsed words,
half-and-
third.

something was going to hap
pen, I knew it.
but by then I'd forgotten
how I'd begun,
again.

I prayed,
ohdeargodiprayed.
It was all I did now
a
days.


"I'll find you in the morning Sun
and when the night is
blue, I'll be looking
at the Moon.
(but I'll be seeing
you.)"

my disease was worsening,
and your fingers
weren't helping anymore.