what do i do?

take my advice

and murder my chances

of escaping alone

to meet the wife i don’t know

and the life I don’t own

or lifting my head

and returning to earth

to shine a light so profound

that others can see

how shit everything is/has been

since eighty-three

i’m exhausted and

tired for my friends

who have lovingly watched me

write myself in and

myself off simultaneously

putting the “mess” in Messiah

since ninety-three

drawing back string and

watching it soar before falling

to the sea or the sand

or aim straight to the ground

or searching for kindling to ignite

a fire already alight that

night after night

has kept me awake not warm and

has served a purpose to disturb me

only a little more than I already am

and should I meet someone?

should I? I’ve no good answer for that

I’d heart a crossroads right now

there’d be four ways to go not