i presume [anymore] i chose to be born;
i, evidently asked for this.

the black-corridored future
is seeable only with special eyes,
and as i walk through life backwards
it is with my panorama
blurred by my personal
attachment to my life.

it appears
my misery is the mystery
of the ever-changing
scenery flying by,
palling the forms
with hoary moss,
and with my eyes behind me
i'm seeing what i've done
and wincing at every
polaroid sin captured.

it's not as though the gods
see orpheus' wonderment
at the lovely eurydice,
and playing his lyre
of appreciation,
making rocks follow
his sweet notes,
taming wild animals;

it's more like i'm

hades,
and i have my wand out
and i'm in a fretful mood
trying desperately to
draw my own life back
from the future,
with my misery coming
from the exposed knowledge
that every pain, every ache
was caused by me.

11/16/2005