It was all just one mistake

after another,

that led us to this place.

No map,

no compass.

No circumscribe

around the edge

and then


into it.


we just

struck to the heart.


By fate,

or fortune,

folly became virtue,

or perhaps,

this is a tragedy after all.

Falling in love

is never

a calculation;

it’s an accident,

a twist of cruel fate.

Like going out for groceries

and discovering oblivion;

wandering into a black hole,

instead of the produce section,

and we fall for it

almost every time.


I’m not sure if it’s the first

mistake we make,

but it surely is the second,

or the third,

or the fourth.

The chain of misfortunes

that find us falling in love

are catastrophic.

Like getting sucked into a black hole

results in…

…what do they call it?



When our feet

reach the speed of light

before our head does.

We eventually fall

head over heels

into that infinitely dense singularity,

and then we’re fucked.


There’s no getting out.

The next mistake is lurking,

hanging about in the shadows.

Waiting for that moment

when we try to move,

or speak,

or think

and then it’s on us.

Catching us about the knees

and wrestling us to the ground

and even out best efforts

can’t keep us from being smothered in it.

Obsession, infatuation, yearning.


Oh, the heart is a horrible traitor;

giving the mind fits,

as good sense leaves us

and the next mistake

is followed

by the next mistake

and we wouldn’t change a thing,

as the ill circumstances pile up

and all we can hope for now

is to grow old together.

A lifetime of decisions

that never were;

not really.

Just mistake,

after mistake,

after mistake

and I wouldn’t change a thing.


HG – 2017

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