Desolation
No one but me knows what desolation means.
It’s that pinprick.
Becomes a square.
People assume things.
Squiggly lines.
Waves and t-shirts that I don’t wear anymore.
No one eats in the kitchen on the floor.
When there are chairs and a table.
There’s such a thing as desolation.
Believe me.
Like napkins cleaning up messes that are too big.
Crumpled and dreary juice in a puddle.
So am I.
No one but me knows what desolation means.
It does go away sometimes.
Comes back later that week.
Always on a relaxing Sunday at 6:00 pm.
There are a lot of mathematical equations out there.
No one bothers with them.
Desolation.
I’m the last one left.
Who knows.
Who knows?
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