By Richard Mather
Every time I come over
my original sin
quickens in the veins.
My heart tells me I am guilty
for not doing more
to unburden you.
You’re so lonely,
and I’m so impatient, resentful,
never pleased to see you.
It is exhausting being
on the other end of this:
tied to a mast or a telegraph pole.
Our old life is over.
but the way you divest me
of time suggests otherwise.
This isn’t healthy.
It’s hard enough being me
without having you involved.
Comments