by Mike Heide
the easiest things to recall, always the last times
finally caught the glance, the unexpected disappointment
in that quiet space, between moments of agency
formerly reserved, impenetrable, ineffable confirmation
images of that disdain, there is an old and bitter longing
of subjective assurances, compelling one to desperation
for the marionette wires of emotional manipulation
that might be secretly strung on anything resembling hope
these things get romanticized, the minutes before conflict
we met a few times, a mutual intention to bludgeon memory
a safe interim, among the howling museums of society
fickle ideations, contingent, relinquished individuality
attempts at denial, the wars for insecurity and shame
over past abandonment, betraying secret dreams of space
from some dread of recurring two-faced nightmares
that eat away at each polarity just to stay self-centered
there are all these memories, there is only that moment
their pure gaze, anything and nothing could be possible
boundaries evaporate, giving everything to hold onto this
petty discourse, contemptible, savage pontification
cliché misdirection, displaced enmity from ignorance
of subtler communications, vying for an obscure control
in reliving these convoluted battles of formulaic rhetoric
under lights of over-rehearsed theatrics scripted long ago