Reasons

This poem was written by Jeff James and myself. 

Edited by me.

I don’t know where it went.

I left my key in your door

And tried to open your chest

To shift and undress your ventricles.

This was not a matter of surgery…

Did the scalpel in my hand mislead?

I’d like to say I know what I’m doing,

But we make loud decisions for quiet reasons.

Reasons are misleading, so back to the scalpel.

This tool came  as a ballpoint pen,

a blueprint to polar shifts and shin splints

Acquired by chasing in excess.

That’s not what I wanted to happen over there—

I left the window open to draft you in

And endure the cold embrace of your breeze.

I’ve been reasonable, but far from malable.

You haven’t moved an inch,

And you haven’t asked me to lift a foot,

But to be perfectly clear,

We make bad decisions for good reasons.

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