If you’re in the market to be impressed
by something I’ve done lately,
it might interest you to know
that I just needed a whole 48 hours
to start and finish a pack of cigarettes.

I’ve gone most of this year,
without separating myself from the balcony
on the fourth floor,
and learning all 11 steps to a better body,
before I make my way into the first
of the five neatly-stacked layers of cars
that are waiting for me to descend.

Yeah I’ve been distant. Yeah.
My mind gets as far as collecting
four or five charming stars
from the plans I made
when compromised affluence was scarce.

And then someone takes off their clothes.
Or I can’t get to sleep at night.
Or the sound of airplanes turns me into
a drooling mess of greed for busywork.

And I hold off on making you be the bad guy again
for another week.

But so many of us are playing roulette
with doctor’s suggestions these days,
that this kind of thing was bound to happen.

Let’s keep the surprises innocent, simple.
You can just be discreetly proud of me
anytime you’re good to go.

I won’t even take it as a sign
that somebody loves me more
than I would probably be willing to stand.

You know,
were it true.

11/06/2013

Posted on 11/06/2013
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