The words I put into your mouth
did not belong to you and the things
I tried to make your body do were
not your thing and all the time I
spent confusing the situation with
my ontological inarticularcy.
Those were the wasted days
- that was a wasted year. If only
I had known the things to say
to remedy impossibility.
I had known those things
known and then forgotten them.
This seems to be the way
a good old repeated pattern
I never asked directly or told
you what to do but neither
was I honest about my expectations.
I did not care about yours.
That was a wasted year
- those were the wasted days.
All that time I watched you
but couldn't later describe
what I had seen. All of my witnessing
nought nought nought.
I will not give us another thought.