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I make a steady effort
to keep reducing my life.
I've unraveled it's tapestry
into a skein of loose threads.
I'm down to the last one,
it's getting thinner.

I used to have
a wife, a business,
a family, a community,
but that's all gone now:
the marriage was a lie,
the business was killing me,
the community was a cult.

So I cut it all away.
Now all I have left is
a few old friends,
a fistful of poems,
my old guitar,
this big truck I live and work in,
and a couple of kids whom I love.

Not much of a legacy
for a lifetime.
But I take satisfaction in this:
there are no lies in it.

I'm nobody's jailer,
I'm nobody's prisoner.

I make an honest living,
take comfort where I can,
love my kids with all that's in me.

I keep heading down the road,
one step ahead of the reaper.
So far, so good.
I'm a hidden hero wrapped in plaster
Scrape away my hollow eyes
Uncover the darkness, danger, dust
I am shallow, shocking, forgiving, loving,
Fanatic.

I'm a would-be poet, afflicted with an inverse scheme of self-preservation.
Conducting concertos of charm on my inferior exterior
Appearing dreadful, hungover, a mite dreary
Enough to seem needy
Feed me, clothe me.

A courteous, cancerous kid contemplating causes and effects
Affect me, feel me, fight me tooth and nail.
Coddle the cuddler, campaign with cannon.
I'm a casual casualty
A murderous misanthrope.

Color me gray, tear me down to size.

Charming and belligerent
Selfish and unholy
Pious
Righteous
Conflicted.

— The End —