I see what I see
like the number 13
for reasons
known only to me —
got yours?
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I see what I see
like the number 13
for reasons
known only to me —
got yours?
most things I imagine, ultimately get dismissed
by someone very familiar to me,
yet stranger than any fiction I’ve ever written
how do I put this lightly,
perhaps an anvil will do
oh, but I’m always the coyote
you speedy devil, you
can crush me in an instant
you can split me into two
as I run on air to catch up
you know just what to do,
so tear away the painting
post no bills up on the wall
I’m your brick and mortar baby
we know either way I’ll fall
in their confident voices, I hear only ignorance
but than again
my fly has been down all morning —
naturally
all
that
time
effort
energy
left
to
H
A
N
G
—
Get out of
bed
Untangle from
sheets
And
breathe
Each day
new
Another crack at
life
Surely, this, isn’t, healthy
but the alternative just seems
so entirely soul crushing
that if this, is, so, unhealthy
than there surely must be
an option C: since A & B
are now, defunct.
If nothing else sticks
take solace in that,
life happens—and—you die,
between the lines
there’s simply time.
For what?
Bah! You tell me!
Besides,
I’ve got to get my watch fixed.
I often hide the cover of the book
I’m reading,
commuting on the subway
or relaxing over coffee,
like anyone would care
either way, because yeah!
What if they did? They don’t.
But what if? And how does one explain
his book of choice, when more than not
the books I read give me no choice! Aha!
They’d label me pretentious, surely they should
but what if they didn’t?
Would I really have time for a friend,
when Whitman sings and celebrates self
Oh! You better believe I butt in.
lucky 13
31 but I see
the perfect representation
of what it means to free
that little boy caged
like a curse
relieved
in the back of a hearse
lucky 13, reversed
over time, it’s easy to see
at 31 years old
that boy was me