public private discourse: cribbing from my own damn tired self

trying to think of my own words to say
then nothing feels right
like i've chosen the best colors, but now the texture has suddenly gone all wrong
and i'm going to have to start all over again
run across the car park and throw the whole lot in the dumpster
you've stolen a glimpse
and now i've got to start fresh
start all over again

what i've been trying to do
god, trying to do for hours
is recall the paz poem 'scrawl'
i'd memorized it two weekends ago
with the intention of leaving the words for you
in a message to be heard at some inopportune time
only now
i've lost them all
can't remember any last word
this empty bowl

there's a poem that begins
'i want to film you in quick cuts and monochrome'
i always tell myself that the next line goes
until a thousand electric eels are dancing on your head
but i know that's the lie i've placed in place of the original
and, besides, it doesn't make any sense

i'm fighting the urge to grab my cell phone and go outside this instant and call you
it's your voice i'm after
the evidence of you
and that you really might just miss me after all

there are two options
yes
i just don't know what they are