03.15.16

When my heart is deflated
it folds like origami
a delicate paper
with endless edges
to hide its center.
I light a joint,
Chopin plays
and the fury I feel
this fury that fills
will only reveal itself
in the words of poetry
that will probably go unread-
that no man may cherish.
But I keep recording
the details of my insanity.
Monitor the venom
that could easily decay.
Experience says to
remain as stoic as an iceberg
and be content when set adrift
and are left to battle rough seas.
So I remain as silent as my telephone
on any given evening
and prefer to let Chopin
speak on my behalf.
It is Tuesday night
and the lonely poet
tries to recall the moment
hesitation outweighed love