i dont know where to begin
because there is nowhere to end.
and events are not succinct
when you sleep through tv episodes,
ice cream sundays and the game of
charades.
In confusion and bemusement,
an old man waits for my mail to be returned
to his future. when he dies,
we will no longer be alive in the same world at the same time.
isn't that something worth
singing about?
coming down is easy when you're happy
and being happy is free
for poets.

blurry posture on a dance floor, I remember
love and loss and my mediocre shoes.
placing a bet on the sleep of a night when everybody loses
in the end of sight,
so don't tell me not to reference my life
in my poems or my poems
within my poems.
I am awake and I am alive.