I Told You

Come on now, just let me in

Do all these writings have to have some deep meaning

Like a Woody Allen film?

I see lots of movies

Him and Frank O'Hara are two of my idols

How much time was wasted?

Who am I without these movies?

What could I have been?

Poetry is so self-obssesed

But what else am I going to write about?

I can't write about your life, or make insights

Into your motivations and actions

But I told you to be better

I told you to be kind

I saw how you were dressed

Now who the hell am I?

Did you ever see something in me?

Or was I just another high?

Were you trying to seem older?

By treating me so fine?

I'm sorry that I don't know what to apologize for

Where did we go? Were we ever there?

Why do all my poems come back to this? To you?

So many drafts discarded, so many wasted nights

Writing things completely different, but all the ending rhymes

Just come back to this, to you and the sea

To another lonely night and a wasted opportunity