Illusion
There are times I think all is lost
and it works out logically in my head
then the next day, hour, or transitory
second, the glass is full again
and I’m clever and handsome
I go look in the mirror to regard
myself reread with anticipation
my poems
and the bottom falls out again
I check my email and discover
a small poem of mine is accepted
anywhere and gigantism again
consumes me
but then I’m still not published
in Poetry magazine, I have “not
a pot to piss in” as my businessman
father might put it, I’m bald, short
with small hands, and have a
poor record cohabiting with women;
but what the hell, looking around
I see it could be a lot worse,
I could, for example, be
a simulacrum of myself
responding to life overeager
nervous and constantly
questioning myself
cloned perhaps in my early twenties
when maturity was all I
had to look forward to
and dying seemed like
the best option available.
Becoming Divine
for Walter Savage Landor
I don’t bemoan getting old
whence it is over and the
story told
it’s time to look forward
to again be bold
to look within
original sin
and enter a proximate
conception
I shall nary conceit
the final defeat
equate as hopeless
spurious last stand
which brings me my
glorious cup of doom
instead I shall assay
attempt to sashay
between halls of justice
and commonsense
in relieving the people
of their common woe
hoist my petard
sing free to regard
larder the most
decried by the host
most hopeful in any
final analysis
I shall become thee
a newborn infused
with vastly enhanced
subconscious reproach
to sweetly die rise up
fly between this
world and Elysian fields
which by remembrance
of efforts preceding
all those that might be
needing to drink
nectar of hope discover
an easy availability
of the Divine.
You see, witnessing
repeated reincarnation,
we all
become God,
eventually.
In Prison
The last place I wanted
to be looking good or
good looking was in prison,
but unfortunately that’s
where I found myself.