You read my sadness
Word for word
Like I’m a novelty
Then put me down
Back in my place
Some oldtime tchotchke—
And I wonder how it feels,
Window shopping too?—
From the corner of my gladness
To the outskirts of your sadness
Where nothing is for certain
And no one is to blame
Except we don’t glimmer anymore
Or sparkle like we used to—
Ornamental at our best
Tokens from another life
I don’t really know
Exactly what I am
Perhaps a shadow of my former self
Turned inside out
Back to his former self
Like a Ferris Wheel spins
I can be any focused face in the crowd
Though I don’t know the difference anymore
And we’re too old for carnival games
Life ain’t always about
doing the things you want to do,
more likely than not it’s
doing the things you have to do.
And maybe some cool shit along the way.
Remember— oh brothers and sisters
that we are the philosophers of our time.
Us haggard poets of principle and measure,
no matter the plight must rise.
Through tears of understanding
with honest eyes do I
accept thy pleasure’s burden—
to see within our time.
Perhaps we take photographs
and selfies of ourselves
in the event that someone might care,
in the event that someone we haven’t spoken to
in a long, long while, might see us there,
and just for a second consider the thought:
that everything’s quite alright.
Or, perhaps we do these things
in order to remind ourselves we’re alright,
even when we’re anything but.
The allure of hanging
Like an old-timey suit
Is just that.
Poetry for the waste-bin,
Ready for the Goodwill.