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?