My life is a sequence of details
of getting dressed and small talk
wishing to walk away or embrace
and being tired at the end of the day

without a mainline, no game
of double tongue, linguistic tricks
or metaphors, not even
a virtual reality

of bloodless love
and polished pain
in detached poems
that push beyond the familiar

The details include
my love and my pain
which I learn to know in the everyday
of being tired, wishing to walk away

or embrace who is dear to me
what I often don't do