I listened to your rantings for so long I began to think they were my own, Indistinguishable—the self from the other, So the chase was set, the escape inevitable. To be locked inside a tirade Changes the poles on your compass— Let loose in too many directions is Just as bad as being stuck, immobile, in a rut. We had two good years gifted to us? While we lambasted the world that dared Tell us what we had was unhealthy, cataclysmic, Riding that wave, the euphoric addiction of lust. When we crashed it was against a wall of denial, Arrest, rehab, done and gone. On the other side of too many diminished Mondays, You left me of your own accord. That last evening in our quelled sobriety, We hardly recognized each other. I might even have stayed, adapted … Had I not recognized the futility in your silence.
About the Poet:
Tobias Maxwell is the author of three novels, The Month After September, Thomas, and The Sex and Dope Show Saga; a novella, And Baby Makes Two; four memoirs, Naked Ink, Diary of a Smalltown Boy, Vol. 1 & 2, 1973—Early Applause, 1977—The Year of Leaving Monsieur, and 1983—The Unknown Season; as well as a poetry collection, Homogium.