ILL-DISPOSED TOWARD WHAT I LOVE THE BEST
Ill-disposed toward what I love the best.
The afterlife of a lightning bolt is a crack in a mirror.
The short straw of a lifeline that was bent on revelation.
Such is the world.
The seeing goes on without me.
I can’t hasten a vision that’s already out of time.
But when I’m truly bad
there’s something infectious
about the sublimity of my laughter.
When I was a kid in a garbage-can
all I wanted to do was get to the stars.
And it’s all these years later like eyes without eyelids
and I’m still walking around on earth
as if I were on the wrong side of the light.
Young I aspired to be something.
Chrome on the bumper of an ideal.
Older I realize what I am was never my idea.
And there’s so much to miss that I am still unworthy of
even when I grieve
and things that my cowardice is still true to
that my courage doesn’t believe.