If I Had Nothing To Say

If I had nothing to say

I have said it all already

If I was born to be a nobody

I succeeded right from the start

If I was fated to do nothing

I have finished that already

If I was to be a loser

I was the first to come in last

If I was always a fool

I don't have to try anymore

If I went to hell as they bade me

I must certainly know the way

If I was simply worthless

I always understood my intrinsic value

If I had nowhere to go

I am already there

If I never had someone to meet

I have already met them

If I never had a thing to offer

I had already given it all up

If I never had a future

I have lived it all already

If I never had a chance

I need not fear any risk

If I have nothing left to show for

I am completely invisible at this time

If I knew not where I was going

I have not the slightest idea where I am

If I am one in a million

I know there must be uncountable millions

If I had no direction

All ways must be the same

If I was a quitter

I quit before I even started

If I had no potential

I have still done my very best

If I lost my way

it never slowed me down

If I always lived in the past

it is all over now

If I swallowed all my pride

that was not what made me fat
If I would not try hard enough

It was not all that easy

If I did not listen

I have heard it all in any case

If I had no guidance

I could not stray from the path

If I knew it all

it has left but little behind

If I wasted my best years

at least I don't remember

If I remained quite ignorant

I knew it all along

If I lacked a spine

It did not hurt to be stepped upon

If I was filled with self-contempt

how could my life be so very empty?

If I had lost my marbles

it was without a point of reference

If I were woeful and insecure

I was too afraid to say it

If my dreams were all in technicolor

I never knew black from white in reality

If I could not plan ahead

any and all actions were the same

If I lost my head

I found it filled with regrets

If I always heard only never

I easily escaped all futures

If I had been an angry young man

I morphed into a bitter old fool

If I had no sense at all

the world made perfect sense to me

If I did not use my head

I did not have to think about it

If I was not worth a damn

I really could not help them, anyway

My Life Of Whispers

Stored up a poisonous rage and acidic resentment deep inside myself over external injustices

Bristled as the less timid squeaked out their shortsighted, greedy and furtive leadership deception

Lay in bed late at night and remade the world, got up tired and went tamely off again to my dull job

Grew hoarse deep inside from shouting out the truth, without even raising the slightest whisper

Too timid to open my mouth when it counted, too afraid to really stand up for anything at all

Too insecure to be a leader, too little self-confidence to try for even the second-best schools

Unable to push my way under the lights, wrapped up too tightly in my own silly phobias

Too often called a nothing when I was quite young, drilled on my inabilities, time and again

Too long alone with self-ingrained reproaches, mine was a life of whispers, no one else should hear

Too much time wasted on a foolish depression, overly attentive to meaningless internalities

Afraid to speak out thinking I might sound as stupid as them, yet poisoned by my own angry silence

Peeping shrill protests, but only to myself, shamed into empty muteness by my screaming insecurity

Too willing to just let them rape and waste, con and steal, defile and then righteously pontificate

Cowed into an uneasy and guilty silence by the deeply ground-in knowledge that they are my betters

Unable to be driven by greed and insecurity to back-bite, face-step and ass-kiss my way to the top

Railing only to myself in the empty solitude of long nights, but without releasing the smallest sound

Responding to atrocities, extinctions and propaganda with the merest shake of my head

Harboring secret plans to someday stand up for what I never actually stated out loud I believed in

Too happily turning over mind and senses to endless channel flipping and video games

Abbreviating my thought into chopped soundbite nonsense, constantly tweeting and texting

Never dared organize, distill and commit my complaints publicly for fear of a just ridicule

Jealously would not support others who spoke out, but kept my own words jumbled up inside

Too crippled by internal contradictions to ever get to my feet on my own and speak out at all

Too deeply mired in self-loathing to get beyond a mute mediocrity they treated as tacit acceptance

Lecturing, tutoring and even preaching, but only ever to myself, and just when I was alone

Able to see my own internal contradictions well enough to keep them balled up inside

A life of impotent whispering in dark halls that was never really meant for other’s ears at all

Forced to think in shouts over the idiot noise that gradually drove me deaf, even on the inside

Who knows why I could not listen

who knows who I might have been

if someone would have spoken and I could have listened

who knows what I could have discovered

if I could have found myself

who knows where I would have journeyed

for had I even found a clue, I still would have feared to travel

who knows if I ever even came of age

since I always worshiped only youth

who knows why I did all those things I now must regret

it simply would not matter, if only they still made sense today

who knows how I poisoned every good opportunity

if I had really tried, I could not have done it any better

who knows who I might have worked with

if I did not always keep anger so close at hand

who knows what I could have become

if that blackness had not dwelt so deep inside

who knows where I would have settled

if I were not forced to flee myself so often

who knows when I might have slowed down

if I had not given myself up as very broken

who knows why I did not listen

if I ever even thought of that, I did not pay attention

who knows how I grew so tired

if I never really worked too hard at all

who knows who could have helped me on my way

if I was not sure where I was going

who knows what I was thinking

if I always thought I never had a clue

who knows where I would have stopped

if reality had not at last got in my way

who knows when I stopped living for the future

if I never stopped trying to forget my past

who knows if the doors would still have stopped opening

if I had not let them hit me as I left again, in the past

who knows how I was mistaken for one of the living

if I was the walking zombie I knew inside

who knows why I felt so empty

if I really was as full of shit as I believed

who knows how I stayed alive throughout the endless years

if I thought my life had ended so very long ago

who knows who I might not have brought to tears

if I could have just felt myself in her place

who knows what remains behind

if I come from a past that was always lived for today

who knows where I finally saw myself

if I was always running, and never looking back

who knows when I started trying just to slow down

if I now go downhill so fast, quite out of control

who knows why I act like such a macho

if I know I am a chicken-shit disgrace

who knows how much time I should not have wasted

if I wished to age without regrets

who knows who might have helped this boy

if I had not been too much of a man to ask

who knows what I might have heard

if I could have stilled those inner voices

who knows where I picked up so many wrong ideas

if I would not listen to anyone at all

who knows when I first looked up and saw the game was over

if I still appear to strive to win

who knows why I thought we were somehow different

if I just look around at all the things we’ve done

who knows how often I started over

if I am still so very close to the beginning

The Bag Man’s Tale

        An ode to the necessary medical removal of human dignity

Shuffling so very slowly down the street with your head cast sadly down

Carefully, so very carefully, one foot painfully, and barely, after another

Each step awaiting agony, with every tiny bump a shooting pain

Yet, that last one was not that bad, maybe just one more might be all right

How can you really help yourself when you walk so stiffly and so slowly?

Perhaps you should have just remained drugged and on your back in bed

So tired now after a tortured quarter-mile covered in just under 20 minutes

Young children sense fearfully the malignancy that controls your painful gait

Even small dogs, emboldened by your weakness, approach to run you off

There is no point in even looking at the young men passing by

And the women really do not see your faint shadow from their shiny cars

But the old people nod in recognition, remembering well, at the sight of you

Creeping along not lifting your feet or ever even bending your knees

Bag man with that disgusting mystery no one ought to see

Practicing the humility with which debasement has replaced your dignity

When they say that things could be worse they often point at you

Bag man, gray face sculpted by chronic pain into a wickedly grinning skull

Trying very desperately to walk so smoothly that he won’t feel a thing

Toenails grown long and yellow, white stubble and hairy earlobes

What made you scuttle into the light In those funny, wrinkled bedclothes?

Your sparse hair is sticking out in all directions and you don’t know or care

You’re too thin and the children see the yellow bruises from all of your injections

The muscles in your long thin neck distend as you grit your teeth with every step

Onlookers long to scream, just straighten up your back and walk upright like a man

The shabby slippers that you are wearing look so very wrong out on the street

Your weak presence both a lesson and an affront to the busy lives of others

Mr. Bagman shuffle back home now and fumble through all your medications

You’ve become all those things you never thought you could possibly grow up to be

Your pallor is unnerving and there is a redness about the whites of your eyes

You try to avoid their glances and answer in strained monosyllables

Your life reduced to merest painful basics, not unlike those great oriental Zen masters

Finding vast relief in the simple stillness following the great suffering of your trek

Mass Anger Mismanagement

we are angry at the grocery store, we rage alone in our financed automobiles

we are incensed at our inability to control even our own stupid feelings

our lack of control scares us enough to keep a pistol close beneath the car seat

we cannot swear, we cannot fight, but our resentment festers deep inside

mad that we are failures by the glib advertising standards that they force-feed us

our long sought-after calm shatters in a violent hypertensive instant

there is conflict in the predawn traffic, we awaken bitter late at night

heated disagreements brew during the happiest of family celebrations

diners are at each other’s throats while seated at their supposed leisure

people calmly riding bicycles gesture obscenely at the passing traffic

there is swearing at the televisions and the opinions on the gonzo radio

arguments erupt into violence over short walk fast-food parking slots

family members remain enraged for days over trivia they had forgotten

strangers grow too close, too quickly, in the bonds of instant violence

workers nurse bitter resentment and smilingly attack each other’s backs

sweet little mommies command replicas of paramilitary vehicles to shepherd kiddies

we hate the crowds that we must fight, we hate the fact that we are sheep

we resent being controlled by faceless, spineless corporate billionaires

we hate the perfect television roles that we can never hope to play

we despise the weakness and incompetence we perceive within ourselves

things heat up when we are drinking and domestic violence erupts

children push our buttons and become subjects of hysterical abuse

tax and spenders infuriate us with their godless fuzzy maths and junk science

so-called conservatives upset us, greedily slashing & burning everything in sight

fundamentalists rear back with the righteous wrath of god within them

ordinary people reflexively react to the latest gov’t bogeyman advisory

the middle-aged fume against those who have no cares but still have beauty

the young despise their worn-out elders but covet their possessions

the crowds are driven like the jews, for everything must be done in a hurry

the slightest inconvenience and it all goes up in anger and uncertainty

we break things if they don’t work right and call them dirty names

even sorority girls lay awake nights plotting revenge over a multitude of slights

retirees rant about the newspaper and then just try to take a few deep breaths

endless mental replays ensure that we can neither forgive nor forget

we rage about things that do not even affect us and that we absolutely cannot control

we raise blood pressure while relaxing with chants of woulda, coulda and shoulda

our children watch us hyperventilate over issues trivial and unimportant

and wonder why we castigate them when they raise their voices

men often think that killing something would bring them great relief

then, at certain times in our self-reflection we are shamed by what we see

the blindness and stupidity of other people almost drives us crazy

the more we dwell upon some trivial incident, the angrier we get

our path must be truly trying since we find that we must flail our docile pets

sometimes a simple stoplight can bring on suicidal regrets

just the sight of neighbors bringing changes to the place we live

might throw us into a state of rage we never truly comprehend

impotent husbands angrily try to control every move their spouses make

this merely a reaction to the helplessness that they know so well inside

children lash out at each other even before they learn to walk

when they are just a little older we teach them how to kill for real

surely anger is our natural state since that is how we find ourselves most often

therefore, heart attacks and strokes must surely be, measures of enlightenment

our anger must be well inbred, just look at the dogs that we have created

a Lab will never bite you, but never trust a pit bull

the angry man is a survivor, he kills and then he mates

thusly do his genes live on, but he dies full of violence, hatred and resentment

getting mad about being so mad is quite maddening in itself

then after anger overflows, there comes this stupid sense of guilt

still, despite our best intentions, we observe ourselves at it once again

trapped in a damned and miserable cycle, continuous and out of control

we despise those who are like us and hate those who are different

we resent the strong, revile the weak, and hate the old and the young, as well

voices on the telephone are quick to grow impatient

misunderstood intentions bring on anger which harms our relations every day

there are quarrels in the churches, factions struggle in the government

brothers stand against one other and strangers bond in instant hatred

attitudes are cultivated with an eye towards antagonism

opinions are expressed with an eye towards spurring conflict

opposing groups are brought together and baited like bulls and bears

deliberate attempts stir up controversy merely to provoke a nasty spat

we have these wars on poverty and terror that we must all take part in

and this guerrilla war on science and education that we will surely win...

politicians often tap into sources of public disaffection

pushing buttons to manipulate opinions and to reap emotional votes

fueling up on caffeine and dissatisfaction we go forth to fight out our daily lives

late at night the best can only mumble in confusion, sadly asking for forgiveness

How Did I Get Here?

where did all those young people go

when you did not see them for a while

where does this strange person come from

who now greets you in the mirror every day

why have all the dreams deflated

to lie fading, ripped, wet and dirty in the mud

why does sleep begin to fail us

at the time we need it most

when did swimming upstream

give way to treading water

when exactly does the search for meaning devolve

into a mindless quest for numbed out comfort

how did those eyes, once so bright and clear,

become so cloudy and so lifeless

how do our voices, once so rich,

morph into such pointless cackles

what has become, as time passed by unnoticed,

to those who now toil only in the past

what was that lesson, almost completed,

just before this long twilight fell

where did all those dancing footsteps go

we left behind us in the sand

where are those fads of yesterday

we found so real and so important

why are all the roads now closed down

except the one-way that you're driving on

why do all these others, around your age,

look so old and tired

when did that child get up

and simply slip away

when will the voice inside finally say

now it’s time to leave

how can all these things that happen

really make the world grow better every day

how easily can we forget

those that go away without us

what can we do to try

and make up for all the wasted years

what became of that load of worries

that drove us for all that time

where are the many things

that we used most every day

where is the grandma's voice

that soothed the little boy

why is it now such a real task

to simply do our grocery shopping

why do we find ourselves more at funerals

than at the weddings of our friends

when will the truth finally emerge

from this roil of confusion

when did the thoughtless night lights

first hide the Milky Way

how can we justify our inaction

to those that inherit its results

how can our thoughts still be clear and true

when our bodies are so wracked and frail

what tales can we tell each other

to ward off the approaching darkness

what difference did that smile make

in this vast sea of empty faces

where are those fantastic opportunities

presented so appealingly in the glossy media

where are the charismatic mega-fauna headed

as we hunt them down and burn them out

why do I look now to the marketers of heaven

except to try and purchase life insurance for my soul

why do my days seem to focus on some dark pinpoint

instead of towards a window, open to the sun

when does one stop and say at last

now this is the happily ever after

when will the heat stop increasing

in our living blue-green space capsule

how do impoverished babies of confused little girls

grow up to be fit and moral human beings

how much time still remains to do

those things we always knew must really matter

what further savage acts are called for

to spur us on to our duty

what other, higher emotions, must we quietly forsake

just to keep ourselves trudging duly forward

Assiduously Pounding Sand

To engage fully in some futile activity

Along with all the braying hordes we pilgrimage to the magic places

Driving, drinking, demanding and defecating

Snapping memories at safe and well-marked backdrops

Then hopping back inside to drive on for another few more years

And, baby, it all amounts to just as much as simply pounding sand

At those very special points of interest, where nature spoke to a great soul so long ago

Thousands more now walk and snack, litter, laugh and urinate

They are pounding sand and moving empty holes, from one place to another

Ticking off itinerary items on rushed side trips towards a mindful fulfillment

Following the signs to littered scenic overlooks to snap the memories of a lifetime

Hurrying in the footsteps of long gone inhabitants and explorers

Experiencing another artificially cultured revelation before returning to the car

Driving what seems like way out into the quiet and empty backcountry and finding safe crowds

Returning safely as the snacks run low and the kid’s boredom grows

They think briefly of the deep meaning here, that they read of in the shiny brochure

Stalwart adventurers with electric generators

Taking matching 40’ RVs on a million identical voyages of self-discovery

Pounding sand but pissing blood, as it happens, and it seems, way too soon

Stripped of all dignity and grace by their very own swarming numbers

Unappreciated sights disappearing in their unused rearview mirrors

Like some vast post-modernist zen poultry operation

Flipping the remote with one hand and clapping with the other

Keeping the sound of no sound safely muted

By the pointless cackling and the idle strutting of the lamed

Preserving only the illusion until it’s too late to grasp anything else at all

Pounding sand and shouting until we grow quite hoarse and still

Pointless microscopic sparks in one ever-expanding and darkening universe

It Grows Inside Of Me

The tests all say that something alien grows inside of me

The signs all point to a vast and potent malignancy

Surgeons suggest I undergo a non-invasive operation

Radiologists recommended a course of ionizing radiation

They found a bunch of lesions and my numbers are all too high

Of course, at first, all that I could do was just keep on asking why

I sometimes feel like those who house a worm so large that it barely fits

But this stuff won’t ever be expelled just by the mere taking of a shit

Some oncologist offered up a regimen of targeted, toxic chemotherapy

Long ago the church would have condemned all their stuff as evil heresy

Perhaps it was my genes, diet, poor attitudes, stress or the stuff that’s in the air

Anyway, this is the end of my illusion of living forever, without a care

They said that it may be spreading further on out into my spleen

I’ve done some thinking and decided to try not to be quite so mean

Just now it’s starting to metastasize into my delicate pancreas

So I need not even tell that fat and lazy clerk that she can kiss my ass

It lives and grows inside of me, so I guess it must be part of me

Others shake their heads, glad they have not lived so wickedly

I think about the chronic pain, the growing weakness and the bed sores

They shake their heads and whisper…once they’re safe, outside my door

The End Of My Life

Nobody could have despised me any more or much better than I did all by myself

I saw the looks of disgust that they tried to cover while quickly turning away

Children spoke to me frankly and their parents hissingly pulled them aside

I hated myself for even the slightest hint of feeling sorry for me

Many women were frightened to be left alone anywhere with me

Others fled laughing together and I was left devastated in their echoes

In a world of clean and shiny youth, I was a disgusting pus-filled sac

I knew without a doubt there was no sense in even trying, ever again

I was isolated and alone and I knew it was far easier that way

I did not want to be around me, either, and I could clearly see just why

Books and drugs took me away, not from so-called reality, but from myself

A simple glance in the mirror brought on hours of suicidal thoughts

Everywhere I went people stared briefly and then turned away quickly in repulsion

I chose silence knowing that I would never have listened to such a thing as me

I grew obsessive and compulsive after seemingly endless failures

Family occasions became agonizing ordeals though only of simple polite conversation

Too cowardly for suicide, I tried to kill myself by being accident-prone

No one could help me and I grew less and less willing to help myself

Self-hatred banished self-pity and caustic cynicism encrusted me like a scab

A selfish depression weighed down all my thoughts and filled my head like a bad cold

I knew I would never play the good or even useful roles I read of in their books

I never understood why this would happen to anyone, and it had happened to me

An overwhelming sense of guilt, futility and foolishness was always upon me

I gave up on plans that others made and kicked aside the dreams that they pursued

Quit bothering to try after they proved to me too many times that it did not help

I watched as others grew up and moved on and knew that I would always remain

Would not have bothered listening had anyone ever tried to talk to me

Wore the same nondescript clothes for years because it simply made no difference

Avoided eye contact out of a sense of shame and bitter self-loathing

Went for days at a time without a word and never really spoke to anyone

Slept as much as I could but never awoke from the foolish nightmare

Spun slowly in a powerful eddy of painful but meaningless absurdity

Saw all too clearly the trivial nature of my inescapable predicament

Laughed most harshly at myself over many a powerful dose of self-medications

Could not think of the future for my overpowering disgust at the present

Grew mute and apathetic from visualizing myself as others saw me

Could not conceive of a future from the ruins of my self-destructive present

Traveled to distant fantasies with the music to forget for just a few moments

Had to take the bit part of an irrelevant fool in every single thing I did

Sat in the back in silence and simply took all the tests for no good reason

Could not adopt any role models for I knew they would not want me as a follower

Had an overwhelming need for drugs to gain brief pause from self-loathing

Spent almost all my time alone but was ashamed to be my only and best friend

Hated the world I had to build because I was not fit to be in theirs

Did not want to live but knew it would be even stupider to die

Grew so tired of being lonely, but that did not help at all

Had to stay numbed up because everything I did just made my lame shit worse

Missed all the good times then and I bitterly miss them still

Kept my mouth shut since I would not have taken seriously anything that I said

Tried to remain invisible but stood out like an infected wound

Wanted to be alone behind closed doors but there were always things to do

Woke up hung over to inescapable self-hatred each and every morning

At last I turned all of 16 and I had managed to remove all hope from my future

Even Now, I Never

even as I sit here, few of my atoms remain together

even now the tiny spark is gone, never noticed, in this vast fire

even as I start to speak, long ago my voice stopped even fading away

even now my life compresses infinitely, off into the past

even as I forget the bygone, the hand that writes erases

even now at this pace very little can remain

even as I am born here, I lay dying, just over there

even now this briefest interval has no size at all

even as I am formed from egg and sperm, I am already what I was before

even now my grave was on a planet whose history is forever lost

even as I leave here, all I knew I leave behind there

even now our voices are as some background chorus of insects

even as this is forgotten, surely it need never have existed

even now the emptiness answers only with our echoes

even as I am a descendant, all lines end in single points

even now we only follow short tangents to the infinite circle

even as I lose my bearings, I do not ever lose my place

even now I face the inscrutable future exactly as I did the unknown past

even as I see the light, it matters not if I see at all

even now my understanding is no longer part of any mind

even as I await my re-entry into the void, was I ever really here?

even now these words I write have completely disappeared

even as if I never existed, I sum to just as much

even now the things I see are dreams that disappear within me

even as I came to from nowhere, there I shall return

even now the interval I call myself vibrates briefly then fades away

even as we journey, we remain as close to the beginning as to the end

even now, through my joy and sadness, the darkness is unchanging

even as I try to pause and contemplate, it does not effect my pace

even now we are not forgotten but merely nothing to remember

even as our sun grows cold and dark, its light is new in other galaxies

even now the center is always everywhere, all at once

even as I found the truth, I simply need not have even looked

even now our suffering has all the meaning of the wind

even as our collective wisdom grows, it is gone without a trace

even now the gods we invented influence no more actions

even as we measure time, all the clocks have long since disappeared

even now it is far too late to change the words that have all gone away

I hated me as they must have

I hated me and could not look other people in the eye

I could not tolerate my own reflection in a simple mirror

I knew that they were right to shun me and so I, too, tried to shun myself

I had no friends because I did not want to know those who would want to know me

I hated myself deeply and became, unconsciously, quite self-destructive

I grew bitter and sardonic, caustic and cynical well before my appointed time

I stayed alone just to avoid exposing myself to any normal people

I longed to be simply ordinary and not some monster who frightened children

It was no heroic battle against overwhelming odds

Just a mundane pusy deformation that blew up in my face

I hated me as they must have, as well, and I tried to let them know

If you tried to like me, I would have to hate you because I could not stand myself

I spent far too much time alone and it only made me stranger

I grew so knotted up inside I had to avoid even simple conversations

My face grew long and narrow and I remained always in the shadows

I lashed out in my frustration and, of course, they all just shook their heads

I could not take me seriously and thus I could form no plans

I simply ignored the future since I knew there was no place there for me

I sat depressed in the dark over the foolishness of my loneliness and anger

I peeled my silly mind like a very small onion and found no kernel at its center

I did not speak until questioned, then turned red, mumbled and looked away

I hated me and it showed in my clothes and voice and hair, my walk and expression

I hated having to hate myself because it seemed so petty and stupidly selfish

I hated those who tried to help me because I knew they did it only out of pity

I was devastated by that look of disgusted fear in women’s eyes

It seemed I tried with all my energy to simply disappear

I looked too closely within and was nauseated by what I saw

My future ended just after puberty and was replaced by anxiety and self-doubt

It was no noble struggle, no cross was borne and no hard lessons were won

I knew everything I did could only be unimportant and totally absurd

I lost interest in my constant depression and escaped into works of fiction

But I knew enough to never identify with the heroes, anymore

The best I could hope for was to be simply ignored and quickly forgotten

I saw everything I did through the twisted prism of the way that I looked

I could not feel sorry for myself because I hated that as well

I became quite absorbed by total failure at a very early age

I knew that I was not weak but it was also very obvious that I was worthless

I kept close company with artists, writers and musicians whom I would never meet

I felt sentenced to a foolish and degrading bit part that I was loathe to play

I employed various drugs in constant vain efforts at self-medication

I was shunned and I shunned others and myself in equal measure

I observed myself with disgust and just wanted to crawl away

Everywhere I went in public I heard these voices screaming ‘Freak’, ringing in my ears

I cursed god and bade him strike me down, as I lacked the courage to do so myself

I did what I was told in school without question, comment or objection

I bitterly rejected the sickening role of the unspeakably disgusting to which I was assigned

I hated myself for even fantasizing over ordinary relationships

I laughed harshly at my wasted lust as women fled, revolted by my appearance

I hid stoned within a book as much of the time as I could possibly arrange

I made it so they had to turn over a rock to find me, scuttling away from their light

I grew angry realizing my stupid hopes to be normal could never come true

I hated myself for the hypocrisy of my own continued existence

I was too ugly to live and was too cowardly to simply die, so I just tried to hide

There was never anyone to whom I could reveal my shame and deep despair

I grew defensively contemptuous of the ordinary habits and pleasures that were denied me

I sat alone after midnight as the walls closed in and the carpet weave rolled in waves

I hated myself and truly believed that it was the only correct and proper thing to do

When did it really hit you?

when did you realize you knew not where you came from

             and that it made no sense to ask where you might be going

why have the things you once so believed in

faded into some gray background

what year was that when your hands finally dropped,

that thing which then slipped away unseen

what time was it that awful day

when the print just became too small

how was it that occasion you met someone from long ago

and you both saw your aging selves in each others’ faces

where were you hurrying off to just then

when you realized you really had nowhere to go at all

who died you thought seemed quite old

but was just as young as you

why does less snow fall and melt so much more quickly now

than in those colder times that we knew so well

what things unspoken, lines unread and gestures missing remain

to wake you in the night

why then if the sleep that repairs is such a basic need

do you rest so very poorly now

why should your soul persist forever more

if you live but these few blurry, wasted and forgotten years

when did you notice those things that you sought

might be standing squarely in your way

what were you doing when it hit you that

none of this could possibly really matter

how did you react the first time you knew

there were things that you could do no more

what ran through your mind when you first noticed

a task you had always planned but would never do

what happened to the places that you knew so well

which were the background to a life you no longer lead

why do things go by so much faster now

leaving questions that others more quickly answer

why did all the things you knew flow

like water through your grasping hand

where did you first veer from the road

and start stumbling through the weeds

who were those who sold you out

or took you for a fool and won without any consequence

who were the people who passed you by

when you thought you were still going places

how could it be that what is to them irrelevant, ancient history

you witnessed on TV

what was that thing you never saw

until it finally laid you low