is Alexei Nemchenko
I promised myself this wouldn’t be
another one of those poems where
I verbally weep about the lack of your presence,
your idiosyncrasies, your souvenirs
embedded into my environment
when you are not the real you
but a conceptually ambiguous you
that my mind can alter
with a sentimental equalizer
over- and under- emphasizing specific channels
to morph you into a melody
soothing to my central nervous system,
which may or may not be the actual truth,
the real deal, the fact of the matter,
but the more I think about it,
credibility loses significance
and I weep yet again
against the fallible statute of my promise
