Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

The me that you see’s just a face that I wear.
You have no idea what’s really on my mind.
The me of my soul regards you over there 
As sly and elusive, your intentions undefined. 
The me that you see stands a distance apart 
From you coyly playing the role of a shrew. 
The I of my mind steers a sensible course
By sidestepping driftwood and hazards like you. 

You’ve been casting incantations 
With your coven of dark ingenues. 
I've been busy myself, pounding down my intentions,
Hammering a hard wrought point of view;
I don't need any more you.

As it is, it’s just grist for the mill. 
But it leaves me with one thing I know, 
We made as fine a couple 
As Mr. Miller and Ms. Monroe. 
Now take me off your mailing list. 
I'll gladly burn your cards and letters, too. 
We gave our torrid fling a New York minute.
It’s sad, but I can’t deal with any more you.

THIS SPACE REVERVED FOR
JOLTIN' JOE

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