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!!
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2019
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