Some applause!

–abject and veering,
toxic and
there (that is to say

Oleander to crestfallen minds,
their vision tunneling towards pertinence
of this moment—damned!
As with what was to be
its forthcoming future.

All is fair when and lost
in that brief, up till now,
opportune time,
specified so absolutely
with pulls at your heart
and muscle and mind.

Its mark...

"Now,.. No?..

But this feels as familiar as any a part
I could ever hope to recall,
like a blush,
eyes praising
every acoustic interpretation
of light,
just light,
integrating her smile.

No, now!"

Too late.
It wasn't to last.
Pick one:
Reminisce about her, staying
In fragmented past,
Or be here now
With no assurance
It will ever be the same.

"But in which is she?"..

In this, a hinting sigh,
a touch, is submission;
and, well, I've just learned to tailor to such.
Though each time, as with now,
I wish I had never accepted.

just maybe,
I can return to where
I was
before my weak imposition.
But I know,
and they will soon find,
it's never quite the same.

"In the midst of losing
myself in the midst
of an experience,
why do we feel the need to abstract
from the goings on?
When does a writer believe he's had enough,
that he's gained what inspiration he needs?..
Are there those who can remain and be
and still know worth and its memory?
They must be the chosen
and I, the cursed,
as fame for them is none
but my own wounding desire."

We wish to know, to record,
because we may never trust;
and even if we could,
the moment calls but once
and never again,
with lasting echoes of...

"You will always lose
attempting to recreate this
anytime but now."