Imaginary Albatross

Resistance grows ever more futile,

preference for solitude gains stature,

life of a hermit again enticing.

Ashamed of not crying, embarrassed when I do.

Carefully enumerating trespasses,

while denying conspicuous mistakes.

Bitter at past unwarranted insults,

loss yet again of face

while having no other cheek to turn.

Phrases in retorts amateurishly mistimed.

Once powerful adjectives now fail to describe

what the street corner preacher advises:

multiple aphasia in realizing

rise time is much slower than decay.

No thundering epiphany for me,

only ghosts of outdated realizations.

Last time I looked was the first time I’d seen

the imaginary albatross gliding overhead.

Trite and cliché spooning like lovers.

Never quite managing even to approach

all I intended to be; can you hear me now?

Slightly squinting in the glare of hypocrisy

makes you shield your eyes with apathy.

Over sensitive yet taciturn when questioned,

parodying melancholy to hide despair.

Wearing loneliness like a wrinkled old shirt,

time slows and then escapes into thin smoke,

Genuine facts have backpedaled behind fiction,

the avalanche waits patiently.