Last week I was
consort of deadly calm.
Today I’m none of those, or at least their cadavers
because everything that mattered feels like lifetimes ago.
Yesterday, I was happy to hope for something better to come along; maybe I’ll find it in
a blue-eyed lady or at the bottom of a bong. No, not your God because I prefer to play the part on paper.
Either way, we’ve all been conned.
An hour ago,
I was pretty much a different person, slightly disconcerted but convinced I’m never wrong,
most often self righteous mistaken for strong.
But that personality is minutes gone, quarter past the time you long to hear
Not sure this poem has any real point besides
digital pencils that scrawled it, but I’m reborn every 60 seconds and live for all of it.
Were it not
so impressive, it’d
almost be maladroit.
To that end,
I’m still a teenage boy in armor too large for my shoulders, emotionally older but sentimentally schizophrenic, claustrophobic behind
white picket fences,
burning down suburban joy just to see how quick furniture catches.
Yesterday I was the guy
lying on your mattress, planning perfect futures on the ceiling, but today I’ve lost feeling in my fingers and
track of the times.
now; I just