I feel
Like retiring to my bed
And lying there
Until spiders come
And cobweb me securely
To the wall I stare at

I feel
Like I’m typecast
As Pagliacci,
Recitar! Vesti la Giubba
Sung ad nauseam
Until a shepherd’s crook tugs me
Through the curtain

And it seems
I haven’t grown tired of losing
My footing while I reach for the summit

And I feel
Like there are only so many times
Someone can tourniquet their limbs
Before hesitantly clutching
To the handle of another departing car’s door

How lucky I must be
To have been born when I was
The middle of autumn,
A score ago
To have grown up as I did
Playing with stick swords
And scraping with villains only imagined
To have been fighting for love
Before the term was defined

How lucky
That I didn’t grow up decades ago
Before you were so much
Or even had such
A thought
I was blessed I didn’t develop ideas
Only to rust sleepily in a corner
While you gasped for your first breath

And how fortunate
That in this so-called tragedy
I was not cast as Yorick, the foolish
To think I was already dead

How lucky I must be
To have grown up so fast
To be mature enough to be burdened
By your memory
How serendipitous, auspicious
That I have the strength
To bear the weight
When you could not

How lucky I must be
To be able
To live
With a shadow over my head
And “love” written on my wrist

Like a Hemmingway
I wish to shoot myself in the head
In the hopes that what comes out
Will fall on the page in just the right way
That she is left in awe
Of my scattered (splattered) thoughts

As though I were Van Gogh
I slash and sever my body
And offer it up to passersby
Who only offer indifferent glances
While I slowly bleed to death
Atop another blank canvas

And just like the great wordslingers
Luminaries who build empires from pen strokes
I will take the stage with my magnum opus
Only to crumble to dust in the light

I fractured every mirror
Trying to climb into another world
Where my heart breaks you instead
And

When I’m out bowling
Every pin I knock down is a girl
Who too, will some day hurt my feelings
I always bowl a perfect game
Still

I wish for nuclear war because
There would be no traffic,
No bills in the mail,
And I could lay in bed with you all day
But instead

My house has burned down
And I lost everything, again
Each time feels better than the last
Now

I reset the pins
And I wish

Awkwardly, I made my way to the back
To listen to the lonely performer
Pour his heart out over his guitar
And over the sounds of the crowd,
Too engrossed in their conversations
To enjoy the melodies unfolding.

With every transition they applauded
Politely showing their affection
And as the performer resumed strumming,
So did the chatter of the disinterested.

The lyrics were muttled, drowned out
By the inane banter surrounding the stage
But his fingers continued to dance nimbly
From one string to the next.

And for once I was happy
To not be the center of attention.

The wind washes sand from the lines in my face
As I stare toward the sunrise
Soon the ants will march along worn tracks
Never straying
Left, Right, Repeat.

I tower above them, a monolith
Of days passed
Ready to reveal
The universal truths bequeathed to me

I am Lazarus
Sent back to life like a runt fish
For I still have growing to do
And a message to deliver

Now I stand at the mouth
Of a well-beaten path
Ready to walk against the current
Evoking double-takes from passersby
Knowing that the world needs a slap in the face
To knock the dirt off
And reveal the simple beauty underneath

As the lonely cars disappear into the whispering fog
I am left alone with my thoughts

I cascade over indecision like a cataract
Listening to a chorus on the rocks

Sporadic, mindful of the jealous skeleton trees
Who inch toward my path of destruction
Wishing for a taste of fulfillment

Undaunted, I forge ahead
Rushing, gushing, crashing
Breaking my form to continue the journey
Arguing, editing, eroding

Finally deciding what path to take,
I mellow out and drift into
Calm waters