(c) 2004 Nathan Combs

Unmanageable love: something owns you.
Can leave you behind in a second-story flat,
mouse pelt carpet underfoot,
the broken-open snail of another city morning
crossing the window.

You can yell, but nobody comes back;
silence, with its lifted lip, didders at your ear.
If you had a gun, maybe shoot somebody.

Every rule broken, one at a time.
After which the snick of another door closing.
Dim light creeps out from under tables,
founders and fails in the middle of the room.

I am not hanged.
And my accusers only mumble behind their courtly hands.
I am not even abandoned. Nevertheless.

Bad water leaks
without a sound
down the rust stain in the basin;
Golden Gate Panhandle trees
gather themselves clear
of my course.

L.A. Seidensticker resides in California. You can reach her at labaldwin@attbi.com.

These pieces were first published in INK POT #2 - 2003, a literary journal.

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