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looking at your picture
reflected on the windshield
above the dashboard
where it rests
as i drive,
disenchanted with the illusion

(and the reality)

of life

(of love)

everywhere i turn,
i see only your image
across my field of vision,


embracing my attention
like python coils


pulling me ever back
into your gaze


your eyes


and the thought of life
devoid of you but for your
transparent image


i know that there's more to see,
but i can't seem to shift my focus,
my ford focus with your picture on the dashboard . . .
i can't even remember how it got there—
i must have tossed it one afternoon


lackadaisically . . .


(when i try)

and sometimes

(when i don't)

i can see through the translucent reflection
to the road beyond
and the beauty that surrounds me.
but my gaze always returns to
your image,
triggering memories


and feelings


and finally


driving me behind the wheel of my focus,
my silver ford focus . . .

yet unlike my soul,
your picture continues to rest

(un bothered)

i thought about moving it

(removing it)

in the same way i consider suicide

(a curiosity)

that distracts me for a time
and amuses the monkeys
in my mind . . .

maybe it would be easier to just
crash the car

(go too far)

sometimes extreme action
is required


by that part of me
that can't let go

(go with the flow)

(get on with the show)

(admit you don't know)

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