OH YOUTH

oh youth, you ill-fitting
clothing, so quick to go
out of style. would I could
return to you to linger
an uncomfortable while.

OTHER DAYS (for Dave Wilber)

some days i happily put on
the sad sweater, play old

songs that have me  
staring out the window like a dog 

longing to be owned. other days
i feel the itch of despair

around my neck like a funeral procession, a receiving line of fleas
 

parading past the deceased and nothing,

not even music, eases the grip

of this melancholy; all sounds

become dull tones of surrender,

like the baying of a dreaming stray who's

had enough of waking up alone

legs flailing vainly to find whoever

and wherever once was home.

WIDE OPEN

that five pounds, your
leaky tires, the drinking, more
fiber. why bother? everything

is breaking now,
breaking down. you
get older, faster, see things
clearly; all that you love and have

loved dearly is receding,
your friends are gone, some dead,
others dying soon, and you finally
accept you are breaking, too.

you make big plans
through funeral tears, promise
to make amends, run errands,
fix years of neglect, to write
the end of that manuscript you've kept

in some drawer somewhere; life feels more
dire, bereft, and unspoken, and all
you want is to half-live like this

forever, torn,
imperfect and broken.

STILL ILL

the bled-out wine bottles and the stained
glasses stand like witnesses
to the accident that happened hours
before, stuck to the scene

as they wait to tell their tired stories
again. you don't mind, and
in time you'll learn pain
happens to all good men.

and the stereo reminds you
of what's true in the end:

"i'll probably
never see
you again."

AGAIN

we are dying,
friends, running
up the down
escalator, exercise
on top of exercise,
and for what? hands

never fully grasping
each other, railings
of incomprehension, "why

are we here,
why are we,
why?"; craving

the dull happy ache
of affection, slowing down,
suspending satisfaction until
we are standing before
our downfall. this ride is all,
and these lives lead directly
to temptation, and deliver us
to evil. amen. and can we
do it again?

BUT DON'T GIVE YOURSELF AWAY

today is the day

i give up. i don't

expect to be

fully happy

ever again. a year ago

i would have stuck

my arm in the sideways blink

of the elevator doors expecting

some form of human

or mechanical pity.

today is the day i started to think

those doors are probably gonna close 
on me.

R.I.P. P.S.H.

the way you wore your kind face
makes this more painful for the rest
of us, all broken souls alike, all

wanting to find nothing
more than feeling whole. your play
-acting was more real than most

people's living. in every role your humanity
stole the scene, and you left us
admiring everyone you have ever been.