There is something living inside of me
too fast. My heart forgets limits. It falls,
it falls and loses itself, rising and dives
like my favorite song, and I am dragged
behind it- unwilling passenger with all
my baggage. Surly actor in my drama
series. I carry a cane because I have to,
I want to. I want something to anchor
me to slow movement; I want to come
to a stop, safely. I want to live a while
before my body wears out and I'd like
to be able to enjoy the scenery as well.
When you accumulate age, things shift
around, but it is the gathering inbalance
that convinces me everything else hasn't
settled. It's just change waiting to move
around, because nothing is tied-down
to the ground, everything I am is bound
to everything I am. This is not life-web,
it's a web of fuckery I wove from whole
cloth. It's something i wear like a suit
made from lost chances, absent friends,
and missed signals. It is the loss I need
to feel warm in my own small, isolation.
It's the candle I use to curse the darkness
with; the flame I moth myself towards.
In the end, this is just another life story,
unremarkable; one of billions, and not
even one built of great accomplishments.
You could say that it has heart, but that
heart beats too fast, races over too much
ground to ever anchor itself to anything.
You could say my head is full of theater,
say the balance is thrown off, say I flew
too high and now just look at me: a man,
a cane, a heart that has taken me flying
all the way to the age I am, where I dream
of moving slow; my heart, a stable thing.