a letter from home

On to another plan b
Sometimes I believe
I watched you bleed
All the truth away
So sings the balladeer
My inamorata
I could send you a million songs
Say all that there is in my heart
Or I could write out all tears
Giving them all names and faces
As they dance and strut
Their petty paces
And signify nothing
Nothing again
I get from you
On your adventures

Miscast as Odysseus is
Or patient Penelope
With her ticky trick of knitting
While none wise suitors
Stamp their feet
Drinking someone else’s wine
And bide their time
From time to time
For the eventual breakdown
And the reluctant host invites them in

And on the that day
Will you appear
Robed in your glorious anger
Disguised in guise
Shooting arrows through axe heads
For yet another game
While I never ask
Where you have been
How many lips have kissed you
I wonder I worry I wonder
But I really don’t want to know
The answer would kill me
Surely as if I had
With one of these
Drunken moment suitors
Buried the memory of you.