it irks me i haven't said anything
and it irks me i think i have to say
anything: why say something that
will hurt him. why keep it in me
why keep that which is mine and
why keep that which is not. why
is the word. the perfunctory word
of colors and skies and man and
of why i exist in limbo. btwn love
and indifference, like wyoming
or montana: where i'm told the sky
does not end. the sun sets but it
never escapes. i am like the sun
i have set - but i have yet to escape
and part of me never wants to
and that is the why i've never said