Gypsy Sting

Nothing makes you ready for failure
not even a parachute you prepared
all the trial runs of how it would turn out
doesn’t really get you ready for the shock
of your body slamming against the concrete
your heart beating broken again and again
but all you have left is your intuition for
for when the even breaks, when the downpour
swallows you whole, and you think you’re drowning.


Tonight I rein, and I sing
I sing everything:

but of course I can’t rain a remembrance 
remind you of the causality of feeling

preposterous happening
with its porcupine fingertips

pricking you up the spine so you can’t walk
or brood over the thick…

I sang today, just for you
because I felt the night’s reign

I felt the night pouring on me
beating on my face with its torment

when all you can be blinded by
a tragic composition of seeing

deceptive form, running wild
with euphemistic murder


Another month has gone
wondering how much it would add to exile
banishment from this world
that I’ve created myself around…

As I nakedly dance with the birds’ merriment
on certain days, when I feel like it
when I don’t remember the cost of my translation.

Add it to my displacement tab please
as I yell and scream for something better
my friends are now acquaintances
since they know not how to measure time spent versus time left.

My potential has been broken
over-worked and wasted
I am too old for change or malleability
now fear surrounds my eyelids
giving them a terrible embarkment upon age
premature wrinkles cloud my synthesis.