a lame poem.

April 6, 2007

ten thousand songs surge in my head,
fighting for something that never was
and can never be.

our silent game –
played with a hundred thrusts and parries –
is over, your ivory army
standing still, my king toppled over.

your intentions were good,
(and so were mine,)
but our sparring got the best of us.

memories better left undisturbed.
a palimpsest of ruin.

yet – strangely – i’m happy.

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