Thinking in Circles (on a Tuesday)
Lovesick on a Tuesday, thinking of Saturday
night laughter and Sunday's dawn on a balcony
while she blew clouds of smoke that
floated away to join their cousins overhead.
Gentlemen never tell, but Ladies always do
and I don't know if the small glances from her
friends will be because she doesn't know how
crazy I am about her, or if that's the problem.
She's built cold walls on top of volumes
of fiction to protect a heart so beautiful
its light still shines through, but deception
too long continued has a way of growing roots.
I'm the same as I quote Coelho and Maugham
to show I've at least thought about things that
confuse me as much as anyone, 'cause I'm just
another primate with a good haircut in the end.
None of these feelings make sense anyway
with a constant "Why?" in my face like an
unwanted mirror that reveals an image
more illogical than I thought myself capable of.
All I can do to shatter the mirror (and burn the
fiction) is to reply to the notebook in front of me
that it also doesn't make sense out of millions of
planets in the galaxy that oxygen would cling to ours.
Black holes where time and matter are squeezed
out of synch with our own experience don't
make sense, nor does how brush fulls of oil
on a canvas can make us pause at their whole.
Then I'm tempted to quote Maugham again
with his Oriental carpet analogy and I know
I'm just lovesick on a Tuesday, thinking of Saturday
night laughter and Sunday's dawn on a balcony.
-- by Steve McKennon, 29 August 2008