Untitled (about some breakup)

i've had enough of your cereal-box wisdom
and the long tortured monologues
practiced over ice ages
and escaping into the fog.

it's about time for another
blame my mother or whoever's on the sidewalk
shave your crosshairs and see what else comes up.

and you know, and i know, as much as i tell you
that everything has its spontaneous script
and you're reading yours upside down.

it's a piece of something
stuck between your teeth
that i'm not in charge of picking out anymore.
it's the toothpick that i send you in the mail.

it was a disappointment,
disappointed you, disappointed me
and it should never be that black and white.

there are too many witnesses to call
to make it any easier
perhaps i should just drop it entirely.
perhaps i should have years ago.