O, the house looks like a painting
we can't agree on anything
what I want is meaningless to you
what you want awkwardly remains obtuse
and unreadable

O, the house looks like a painting
no longer are we in step with anything
you casually slighted something
I spent the morning trying to unpack it
to understand you

It's corrosive
it's unsustainable
it's the only way we know to be

I play the game, aligning the pieces
to get me what I've decided upon
O, the house looks like a painting
but I never know what's right
too adept at getting what I think I need

Meeting an old girlfriend
who talks of monasteries and monks
as I count the freckles on her nose
and wonder if she still swallows

O, the house looks like a painting
we cannot agree on anything
is there an urge that we can harness
or just two separate pushes 
toward opposing goals
two firm lurches toward different shores

It's corrosive
it's wholly limiting
it's the only way we know to be

Now the house looks like painting
but still we're not aligned
on anything
on anything at all...

(April 2017)