I’m going to guess that I can drive
about as well as I can make landing
on my hands look easy,
but if my last unshakable hope falls asleep at the wheel,
then I’ll try to learn something before it’s too late.

For a long, long time,
something that’s fun to think of as a stand-off
with a reflection that has a tripped-out mind of its own,
I’ve gotten by on being able to use the memory of breathing
to live for hundreds of miles in the backseat of a messy car.

I’ve lived fairly well most of the time
on romances I wish I could have turned into screenplays.

It’s never been about getting rich.
That would be nice. Don’t get me wrong.
Someday I’m going to need a loan
to get me out of a box that’s sinking to the bottom of the river,
and all I’m going to get are Psalms long after they finally find my body.

Money wouldn’t be so bad. It would be nice to surprise myself
before I’m through, but I did fine on those younger years of mine.
The ones spent trying to get the loose change taped to the eyes
of the statues of the dead soldiers who weren’t even from my hometown.

I don’t even know if they were soldiers. They might have just been guys
who couldn’t get out of a phone booth in one youthful piece.

They probably didn’t get rich either.
And if I don’t, I’ll try to keep myself going
by learning something valuable,
right when the gust from the big hand on clock breaks skin.

Or I’ll just ride a bike all over town,
and lose a bunch of this loser weight I’ve been saving
for the wheelchair with my name in neat letters on the back.

I’ll finally read those lyrics that supposedly define emotional maturity,
and I’ll pretend that’s the same thing as really having it.

I’ll travel from one homemade snow globe to another,
and you’ll never believe I’ve ever had breakfast anywhere interesting.

And you’ll know I won’t be happy most of the time,
but you’ll be too busy laughing at my jokes to care.

02/08/2013

Posted on 02/09/2013
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