maybe there is no ink,
and not a pen anywhere in the house.
maybe there are no more words to describe wine
other than remembering that it was wet
and made you drunk
when the company came over,
because it was then that you said the stupid stuff.
you revealed slightly too much information
…told the neighbors of your financial troubles.
you talked about your feelings.
You think in fragmented longing.
this is because there is still a gap in the bookshelf
and so the trilogy cannot be finished.
None of this matters though,
everyone flicks the words off to the left now –
like groceries or exes or last month’s paperless electric bill
(pretty much anything which could be placed neatly on a list).
If you think of a clever enough metaphor that does not indict you in the eyes of both judge and jury,
Perhaps you might ReTweet it.