stars in the trees2
By Eric Lawson

My powers of preparation have seriously diminished
There was a time when a bottle (or five) of alcohol
held a place of honor in the fridge and/or cabinet(s)
No longer
I seem to be moving away
from easy answers and affordable vices
On this day, of all commercialized holidays,
I think about what love is supposed to be
But then I stop and reflect,
though never in a nearby mirror,
on what is real vs. far-fetched-fantasy

My powers of internalization have grown stronger
There was a time when I would tell anyone anything
and not worry about secrets escaping from my grasp
No longer
I seem to be moving away
from the ideas of community and safety
On this day, of all crystallized romantic failures,
I focus on what-makes-you-stronger-bullshit
But then I stop and regroup,
though never in an old duffel bag,
and formulate a new working strategy

My powers of filtering out false pretenses lapsed
There was a time when everything made sense
and I didn’t need to let anyone into the heart hotel
No longer
I seem to be moving away
from stone-cold independence on the fringes
On this day, of all days to be orbiting love,
I quell my boredom with an inner monologue
But then I stop and whimper,
though never in a soap opera way,
because you left with the last bottle of Iichiko

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