I the spiritless animal in a cold urban forest,
snow-treading through for the horn-throwing
knuckle-shaving
glass-blowing
light-showing of a place
in a town of a city in a country of a world in a stretch of stars they call milk
then pain, tears, stretch marks and wrinkles, alcoholism, guilt, moderation within annihilation, coming out now for the big scenes, the big show of it all.

An expansive downward world
Folds into the distance
Color and rhythm
A sense of endless coast
I think about the impression
I leave in the shifting, hot
Earth that my body is at once
Sculptor and product of
I sit at the point
Where the flowing states
Are a friend of perception

older
less hope
take self less seriously
win internet unlikely too many cats
will sleep tonight?
will wake, laments for dry eyes and perennial wounds
swear lightly and drink
coffee "could be worse",
on second thought
always hated that qualification.

This loneliness is killing me
Just as much as everything
Else, I suppose
I will know who I am
Eventually
But probably not.

Am I ever being me
I am not so certain
Every reaction feels so shallow
I am not committed to the self
that gets pasted onto the minds
Of those people
Who talk small
and stretch their faces
And ask my name,
my opinion
What do I do,
What I have done.

Too many questions that just mean
Nothing. Maybe
That is who I am.

It is the next year
That I claimed would be mine
Yet I sit upon the precipice
Without a design

Inaction breeds uncertainty
I might have thought better
To trod this path in youth
When my well was much wetter.

Age old songs
They seek to remind me
Yet I say of my anguish
It lies in relativity.

Going out of my way
To make it known
That my feelings
Are not overblown.

I called you once
You did not answer
I felt my doubt
Spread like a cancer.

Testing my breath
Fighting the urge
To lay down in despair
Where my fears converge.

I regain control
The spiral slows
I hear your vibration
And I'm back in throes.