Legacy 2015

This is the space reserved
in my canon for
fires and
fuck-ups,
unrequited love
and famine,

for the fighter
in me to lament
the youth in
my swing.

This is the chapter
circumstance conspired
with dire straits,

a character arc
with the
necessary heart but too
weak a case to be
crowned
cathartic;

when arson
was considered a welcome
sight,

an artist in its own
maddening right,
the only thing I had
left to light the
way.

This one was the
villain I almost could not
sway, but in the end
we both knew he was

either dead or
an exile
anyway.

I held
his life in my hands
a while, empathized with
his trials,
told him to
run for the hills
and never
return.

This is the space I recorded
the wisdom he’d learned,
fifteen minutes we shared
with far
fewer words.

When asked
why a turncoat, he replied,

“Because our
lives are a sinking boat
and you needed to
learn how
to swim.”

When asked
why he did what he did, though,
he said, “How can you ever move
forward if
your eyes are closed?”

This was
the place I transcribed his
terrible prose,
and this will
be the place

I spend my life making
his legacy more
widely

known.

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