another path to alone

besides basic discomfort, there's little
left to mark the passing from one day
to the next, the absence of pleasure
our most reliable complaint.

i've always preferred a little anger--
the inconvenience of passion--
to remind me his touch
is temporary--everything is temporary.

to care so little that we
lack the energy to be furious--
that's a hard resting place
'till death do us part.

a message from an old lover
wondering what could save
his marriage, coming
down to the worst sort of honesty,
'I just don't care anymore.'

that's when I know anger is
better--it holds together--
while indifference has already packed.