You are always there
in my head,
an unstillable yearning
for a jaundiced Past
an impenitent hoping
for an untenable Future—

But you are never there
in my Present leaving me
intensely chaotic
inside.

And the diversions
that can only distract me
briefly,
preserved, beautiful insects
with pins stuck in them
a drink that tastes of grapefruit
but stronger—

Only lead me to dial your number
breaking promises made to one God,
for the comfort that never comes
from the other one.