random acts of love, like random acts of kindness,
usually have the best intentions but most often you’re
just left with a smear on your hand where there used
to be a phone number, an empty lighter and an std.
in an attempt to put a face to the faceless you went
blind. but it’s always been like that. since you can
remember, every attempt to hit resonance has failed.
it’s like how the singers of love songs know that always
is just a relative term–i’ll always love you–
and then the song ends and there is no applause.
disappointment like the stickiness below your feet
in so many bars. you stumble out into the street filmy
and tainted, invisible fingerprints on your skin. they will
reappear in the morning, purple and black. you will be
found dead with twilight skin. they will photograph the
evisceration of your soul. file you in a folder that says
just like everybody else.