In My Desire To Show That Now I Detest You. Poem by RIC BASTASA

the hands have always
been a giver to you
your mouth always opens
to all the opportunities
which you devour with
all meaningless chewing
like a routine of a traffic
on the streets of oblivion.

somehow i must learn from it.
and here you are, and here i am not.

your presence will be my absence too.
when you bear fruits, i shall let all my leaves fall

the weather i shall not pay respect,
when it is spring, i will be winter.