If by better you meant different–and
I think you did–then
yes.

I’ve seen them in a coin,
called it flippantly,
lost a bet with myself,

became yours.
It was different,
better, something.

You meant better. Oh, but, but, but,
could it be better?
Were you lying
lying there?

I meant well when I poisoned it. I mean,
I meant differently than you think,
if you think better.

I saw them in a world swathed
in white as if walking down an aisle.
I saw them in either new beginning or
new ending and said no, no,

something different, anything different,
a place apart a part of me, appallingly
here and there and inbetween;

I meant better, but now I see I meant
different, but now I see I meant
better, but now I see you were
settling all along between the rivers
and unable to choose,
different, better, but honestly
my blubbering drooling wayward
darling of the passing ships

it was neither.
And it was both.
Or it wasn’t.

Tags: poetry