The Ghost of Old Love

You can never be free of old love it'll always be caged in your heart and head At any time the ghost of old love can hijack your brain turn it into a forest of monkeys shaking the branches of your memory tossing fruit of the past(rotten and sweet) pelting the present a parrot on each of their shoulders mocking: you're not living ...ya shoulda picked me ya shoulda picked me! You're really living a double life one in the tangible-one in your monkey mind, one house brimming with the old love shuddered and blistered with peeling paint its rooms filled with wild cherry pits a bag of cheap mexican gold copper pots filled with vipers and laughter a carousel of coyotes and fire ants zigzagging along box canyon rapids the big fall just around the bend of night where everything was deadly but very alive, it was all about accumulating scars of living. Your new house is freshly painted everything is uncomfortably perfect just like you see on a movie set perfect lines perfect hair perfect lipstick never smeared but where's the living-the life the grime in the corner, that clownish tangle of underwear at the foot of the bed. Your conversations are a stepping stone to get through dinner this house can never burn down because it lacks fire there's only oatmeal and epsom salt where nothing is deadly but everything's dead the only scar is not living You miss the imperfections of the old love imperfections are the soil of life where serpents wrap around sunflowers spitting fiery pearls and manic thorns- of course there is the crash to follow but it is worth it you didn't know it then but you know it now Where you live now there are no serpents or sunflowers there are no exploding pinwheels there is no fear discussions are just a sparkless interview in gray and what about the quiet moments, are they uncomfortable or are they filled with monkeys and parrots slamming into your brain, screaming ya shoulda picked me! ya shoulda picked me!!