sometimes i wonder if
i could live two lives
in parallel
but eventually
one of them is going to have to
split off onto a far away road

so i must no longer wave at my reflection
or reflections should i say

as i am living many lives, as many people
walking on with their many days
in black jeans, tweed pants, sport shorts,
until

one of them bumps into another
and they all shatter.

so i have to complete the arduous task  
of holding the rusty knife
and killing off the characters of my past
o what a beautiful sorrow