Poem for Two Andys and a Woman I Love

I’ve been running around with a notebook poem in my pocket
& for day I’ve been running around ignoring you it slows
& I’ve been for weeks running & my foot hurts planar
& I took back all the crystal & the silver & you lip gloss
I could take you back the deposit no good in Oregon
Pray for the health of the knee & despite angina no attacks
I should ice my broke-ass foot I’ve been looking for you
I’ve been loving you in purple light for three point five years
It’s gotten no easier & my knee hurts like Andy’s pocket
The poem burned through with its crystal focus
You radiate like “the new sunshine” & sometimes heat hurts
I’ve been thinking about “disseminate” & its lurid & technicals
Every time I talk to you I do love you but then you scream
I’ve got a sack of dice & a player’s handbook your hand
I’m drowning in “great” poetry but the minor of my life
The love of my life isn’t loving me like the poem she loved
November 10th is my favorite day that burns cold, ancient
It’s not the sex it’s not the food it’s not the giant brain
My polo shirts mark me as unfashionable I bought them at the Gap
My jeans no longer fit because my weight loss you triggered
All the digital photographs (Andy Nick & me) (you on a chair)
My things go haywire fallen off the track help me steer
My favorite band two gay dudes one straight (with a po-po mustache)
The interference is not intentional but I step aside words cling
I’ve been sitting here with a poem in my pocket & coffee
I’ve used Snuggle sheets in the laundry to prevent static
I washed the comforter & pillowcases that smelled like you
When I said you smelled like soup it was also like flowers
It was cigarettes which are a cliché but so is whisky & coffee
It’s not you in pink with short hair it’s not your breasts or shoulder
It’s not strained and awkward wanting to write to someone who loves
Who breathes & its not a bank teller not a man in the stacks
Not a stopwatch or a track bike not a bar in the Tenderloin
I talk to you & you say I smile but not with my eyes which only
Means “listen to me” but we took the “Ell” to the Raw Bar
& it’s not the lights of Wrigley Field not your kind smile
It’s the light I see underneath the Gumby shirt, beyond the cashmere
It’s the kitchen the spoiling the unashamed nudity sans fig leaves
Land of Nod visible from the bedroom window speaking trance
It’s what was supposed to be a sonnet but instead a longish
A supposed to be a tribute to our friendship this boat leaves
Tomorrow we leave it’s like a date I’m wearing a bachelor’s button
It’s not a bad flu not a petty quarrel not food poisoning not a pink thong
It’s my hand flat on your thigh, never wanting to be alone, never the daffodil