Distraction
by Michael Doyle

I don't mean this as a distraction.
But for mostly open space, I feel attraction.
Every time that you stand near,
I hold your body, hoping it won't disappear.

I hold your body as something tangible,
And kindness sometimes seems all we're capable.
Besides, it's hard to argue for nothing,
When what I feel for you is truly something.

It's a quantum physicist's true lament
That reality is as porous as weak cement.
Whatever I touch and believe to be real,
Is no truer illusion than one that I feel.

I look into your eyes so heavenly,
Hoping the magic of you offers us a possibility.
You say it's funny and mock me as comedy.
That's my worst fear, paint me a tragedy.

Wimpy wanted a borrowed burger on Tuesday.
But what about the poet who disappeared on Wednesday?
It seems too metaphysical to love blank verse poetry.
But there's hollowness in what passes for philosophy.

It's a quantum physicist's true lament
That reality is as porous as weak cement.
Whatever I touch and believe to be real,
Is no truer illusion than one that I feel.

My lips whisper that now is the only reality,
The rest, it seems. is just an imagined memory.
Please change my mind, and change our reality.
Make our love happier than a midday reverie.

Thought and perception filter every thought.
It's a representation that we've solemnly bought.
The madhouse is just a thin line away.
It makes it hard to need more than you every day.

 It's a quantum physicist's true lament
That reality is as porous as weak cement.
Whatever I touch and believe to be real,
Is no truer illusion than one that I feel.

(c) May 23, 2026   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved