Poem: Sitting Down With This Old Clown

She’s on some trip, That I don’t get. Admittedly I’ve already Forgiven, but I’m likely To never forget But I only remember Any time I see Her face or hear the Voice – and from Pre-determined – or, less full-on: Pre-arranged choice, Those are day to day Occurrences So memory resembles the dying end of a rolled cigarette: Easy to light again, if not Still…