new poem

"Biscayne"

This morning, pacing,
I understood the importance
of basic things.

If there was nothing
to distract us we'd all
be taken by a
rapid darkness.

The fact is that each second
has in it the potential
for death's arrival.

Earlier,
I made a few phone calls.
I was in a state of panic
because there was a man,
a savage vigilante, chasing me
with his machete.

The truth is,
he's always chasing me
but I only let others
know occasionally.

Please, do not contact the authorities.

I should use this time
to apologize to anyone
still waiting for me
to call them. I'm sorry
for hiding, it's only a
defense mechanism.

I would go outside
but

trees and water and
the intricacy of nature
remind me only of a
beautiful girl
who is incapable of
loving you back.

Here, in the back,
I can see the driver
dozing. Maybe he's on
too much of something.
Either way, he's forgotten
where we're going
and I'm not compelled
to tell him. He swerves
right, corrects himself,
then swerves left.

Half of me knows
that when we crash
we will land unsuccessfully
and be eaten alive by vultures.

In the morning, rotting,
we will understand the importance
of much more than
basic things,
and maybe then,

under the wreckage,
I'll be over it.