the last time I saw you
was like hooked fish on a sleeping line
a brief thrash in the exhaustion
of the ever present end
and the farther away the days between get
it wasn’t meant to go well
it was just meant to get
the denouement of act III
le entrevue of the next character
doomed forever to the shadow of your timing
lost forever in the oceans of schools
not only not got but certainly not get
not you in the thrash
not you in the unexpected loss
not you in the quiet need to lie
that this certainly couldn’t be
the last time I saw you
