Do any of
You know what
It’s like to
Let life go
It’s a dark silence
Absence of laughter
Absence of glee
Absence of anything
Remotely curiously normal
Yet there in
That incubus that
Hothouse of thought
Spawned ideas of
Baldwin and Stoppard
That may be
Love was simpler
Than we thought
That maybe just
Maybe love was
Just simply love
And those the
Craziest shown are
The craziest least
Come now do
You not know
Know know this
Game that which
You think is
Really is not
That which you
Think truly is
Nothing truly is
Until those that
Are willing to
Forgo their is’ism
Which is an
Abomination for who
Are they but
Themselves amongst a
World of nobodies
Chatting over espresso
He admitted that
He was from
The middle of
Nowhere but I
Asked isn’t even
The middle of
Nowhere somewhere why
He asked because
I said after
Kissing him you’re
Definitely not anyone
From anywhere or
No one from
Nowhere you’re someone
From somewhere and
That somewhere and
Someone is the
One that’s right
Here with me
It’s the small
Things that amuse
Me a sleepy
Kitten purring or
The hysterical lapping
Tongue of an
Anxious wiggling puppy
Or snow drops
Popping through late
April snow and
Even mid-July cloudbursts
That give rise
To steamy streets
But most of
All it’s your
Just-about-to-sleep nighttime riddles
That tickle me
Ah a smile
Like a galaxy
Of individual stars
Staring at me
Like the lights
Of Christmas trees
Twinkling behind ornaments
Like early sunrise
And harvest moons
Like that very
First crisp bite
Of a freshly
Picked autumn apple
Like those cheesy
Grins in old
Childhood photographs which
Now embarrass everyone
Like mirrors into
Your soul like
Whispers into ears
Just like you
Look at me
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 