ive forgotten my meds too many days now

what you have is toska
she said to the wall she hit
  you look at her from
the front seat of your borrowed car
face like gogol's lover,fire

gaaahhh. begin again.


toska, a burning, an emptiness, a vague
restlessness, a longing without object, an object
disappearing into a memory
dredged out of ten years and a   trip
to places i never  belonged.

this is what you gave me
in articulate sadness
for years until the writing dwindled then ceased
rifted   by anonymity and motility
the unparisienne accent y mental parochial particles
  a longing for an object
that became the subject
that wanted to be everything
this life was not, a sudden
Torschlusspanik
well into the fifth decade of "wait, what?"

and no, i dont think this writing's the thing
it was a while ago, and yes, my neck
is bothering again, and no, the dishwasher's
on the verge of being used against its will
so don't soak the silverware, just load it
close the doors and push start.

you've left me all saudade, in portugal
as it splits from the iberian pennisula
you on that side, me on this of a divide
no one can explain, though some saw it coming-
most notably, you.

i don't know know why, and anyway, that's not
the important question is it, but i don't know
how it is you come to me in these guises
that i can't translate, being all wabi sabi on the subject
of masks. i can't keep up with the mental ten k 
not even if i walk and blog's having issues
with save n pac. stuttering a bit behind what i'm able
to transcribe even so it's all stop motion memory.

there's a picture of you gagging on your dinner
here's one of me, twirling on the blue ball
a peripheral cameo of your gray presence
the color of your aura sunday wouldn't reveal.

you should avoid loud noises and the blogs of former lovers
in the throes of saudade. i have made you all into one
an alchemy of distillation, a tincture of love's loss.
how can it smell other than a wilted rose?

saudade
let's move that into the new lexicon because baby, it's rampant.
loss is love's opposite.

you have what is known as ocd. it's not full blown
only evidences itself  in periodic addictions or in the case
of societital approval, certain religious practices
or professions such as accountancy and technician.
if you recognise the patterns, can you break them
and remain functional? sane is a matter of opinion.



&&&


there is the listost you found yourself in
the abusive husband, the distant nagging wife,
the bratty princess child, the drug addict son,
the trashed potentials due not to society's shortcomings
but your own. you are your own misericorde.
relax the rules
dispense from fasting
forgive yourself it was
all your fault.

now take the weapon
  slice open the veil
this is the season
dead tell tales.

Saudade “refers to the feeling of longing for something or someone that you love and which is lost.

listost   a state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.