sales pitch

and so I bled.
not enough to die,
for I am not yet resolved
to that easy of an ending.
but I had said
I would linger here,
and you said that I must
wait until dust undoes the mending
of broken souls
stitched together
by fortune and and random chance
in an orderly world, the ether sending
invisible
words and a warm sense
that this is no simple surrogate
for all the failed hearts and pretending.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Authors note: There are those who will try to ascribe this to any of a handful of real and pretensed muses, but the truth is that it is to none and all, for I have been asked so many times to wait forever, only to hear the door close in the middle of the night when the lights are low and they do not think I will know until morning that they have taken other paths. I should like to find an earnest heart, but passion is not commitment and totemic words and buzzwords are not the language of the heart and soul. I think I would be happy to commit the rest of my existence to one worthy heart.

This does not break me, but it is an unpleasant thought, caught on the dreamcatcher I summon in my soul to chase away the more nightmarish aspects of modern love.