A second pass at this poem. I have until Tuesday to get it right. Please, let me know what you think in the comments. It would be incredibly helpful and I’d be enormously grateful.
What I See When I Look For You
Too many other people,
not enough you
in this museum,
lollygagging at my pregnant grief,
like white van man at first flush of spring flesh,
tongues flapping in the wind.
But each cosy lament, each tortured eulogy,
is a perverse Oulipo experiment run by charlatans,
blocking out the gaps between where you are and where you are and where you are,
wherein lies the truth, dark and glutinous.
dangling in the tree above the pond,
like indecisive radar.
face down in the cat litter,
burnt meteorite particles (citation needed)
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