Again with This
Again with this.
Lying through my teeth so much
I’ll probably lose them to the bank.
If Gino was here–
if you were here, you’d have something on “truth.”
Not “I can’t because I don’t want to”
truth, or even “you got it, man” truth.
Something about success coming
30 years too soon.
You’d say something about art,
our world, regardless of where we are.
Something as true as the Eye of Horus
knifing that July evening in two.
You’d assure me that there’s some truth
in how well I butchered that
Carver poem from memory.
And laugh that Carver and Bukowski
were the two read in your name.
Hell, I laughed later.
What more can you do?
Have a drink, hell, I’d love to
but not now, right?
Not with what we know now,
even when everybody knew the last
30 years were blown like the bottle.
Your handshake questions
and your IOU answers.
Dig this truth: I love you.
Not the “never having to say sorry” bullshit truth.
Not the “be vulnerable” truth.
The “I love you, I just
can’t be like you, baby” truth.
I can’t write off, I can’t cool my way through,
even though that’s what I dug about you.