Loves, Rages, and Jealousies of Jono

                         i.

They follow each other
in pacts, deal with
death, author suffering and
distress. We are fast
food, vastly outnumbered, how
these chains eat us.
Wormwood of widowerhood, unhusbanded
enough to hold in
the hood of my
dickheadedness this bitterness until

                         ii.

able to hold a
wrong position lovingly, to
be embraced preposterously by
a man whose lie
your body vies to
carries inside, fights to
birth every time he
denies the truth of
what you both do,
and so it hurts.

                         iii.

Any time I venture
to “reconnect” it implodes
after only two weeks,
always, guaranteed. Move it
like an album-equivalent unit,
my loyalties get disbursed
quarterly. Self-control is aspirational
when you audition for
a cautionary tale. Time
to unspool the indifference

                         iv.

and thread close this
wound of confusing communication
knotting my stomach while
spilling my guts, abusing
my truth the way
you used to do,
blues consuming me with
doubts. Consider screening projections
before performing reactions, testing
unfamiliar gestures rehearsing perversions

                         v.

of empathy, uncertain if
affection should feel like
affliction. If sex even
means anything more than
a reason for not
sleeping. If lust should
be the result of
shopping for love’s false
advertisement, since not speaking
ever again always follows

                         vi.

the crush of its
rushed conclusion. Rusting confusion
resulting in me brooding,
the loves, rages, and
jealousies of Jono all
too often all too
consuming. An emblem of
raw anguish, maps will
become lies, unknowingly building
altars for what wants

                         vii.

to break through. To
survive the scrutiny of
a tombstone tourist whose
pursuit of gloom this
wound soon glamours over
with visits by ecstatic
experiences. I am become
envy manifest. Impervious to
my own perversions. Every
exes’ most destructive embarrassment.