The matter won’t matter much anymore
tomorrow or the day after or the after
of the day that afterwards seemed to matter
yet the matter was forgotten or dreamt of
or thought somewhere back where the
thoughts go.

Dancing out across the floor
I saw you go– beautiful, manly
lithe–like a dancer somewhere
but not quite.
Who were you then?
Haven’t seen you in forty years.
Has it been that long?

I must meet somebody for whom
the going is strong and lit by lamps
of understanding tears that cry
in a primary way that two faces
someone to love me more than
you or you or you or you you you
the matter of the matter that won’t
even trickle down to my awareness

that matter doesn’t really matter anymore.

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