too late

for the record
I hate myself
for being tardy
and dilatory
for making you wait
for making you late

for ruining occasions
and plans
even getting
your pay docked

I've tried
ad nauseum
to kill this
Achilles heel
that overshadows any of my
feeble goodness

makes me deeply inconsiderate
makes me out to be a person
who isn't concerned

how it isn't true
but actions speak louder
I feel like scum yet
I must still be selfish

and I care deeply
(but it looks like I don't)
and I ache inside
(though it seems nonchalance)
and breathless come finally and say
"I'm sorry"
again
again
again

and rupture inside
when the day comes
and I hear it


"no

you're not."


---

Wide Web

so I'm a browser now and I've drifted again
back to your words on a luminescent page

this is unfair that your writing again snags me
I hate how you can fill a page with your brilliance
electric eel. how your clauses glide;

professional
and yet get away with conversational
I frown at your swearing, but slide into your wit

skimming on trying to find ways to dismiss this
but there is actual insight in your arguments
sharp current info. well-researched analyses
worse even - all I would be interested in
I'd have bookmarked regardless of sentiment

there's a lot I could be doing right now.
chores. work. sleep (you nocturnal usurper)
this is flash blindness by blog

even so I stop my erratic wings
float myself down in your net of words



--