Here’s to things that shouldn’t bother you,
Like the fact that both our cups are empty.
And the fact that we never toasted
When we both had more than plenty.
You can’t fake those kinds of good spirits
Or strain them through enough layers.
Alas, it seems I’ve won some kind of game
In which I never should never have been a player.
Many points scored, none of them good. Well…
At least the sharper ones are now better understood.
Mortal slurring and fatal inflections,
A foul wind’s capricious direction.
There’s no clarity in that kind of affection.
Time gently passes…
You’ll know it was just a bad shot at perfection.
Formes Frustes – Small Wars With No Causes (2014)