Ode, Inside a Joke

My dearest, darling, manic pixie dream girl

The hours are quieter without

There's little to hold to, the days drag on

Less anchored, I invent broad strokes and haunt the abyss

Reduced to naught, touched, seen, smelt, heard, or tasted

Aha, I, a keeper of ideas, know what to do with you

I hurl missiles into the park, so that they do not soil your yard

Wherever you are, there my love seeks comfort

But once more, silence is mandate

So here we are

Apart again