BUT IN THAT I GUESS I'M NOT ALONE

191. BUT IN THAT I GUESS I'M NOT ALONE:

There are and always have been things I won't talk about - but in that I guess I'm not alone : the manner in which possessions pile up the way they all get dusty the mess I left behind the disarray I live amidst the way I race through time the manner I try to cover-up my flaws the regret I always face the million little times I looked at myself in disgust the thousand things I didn't do the hundred times I could have : there's no sense going on - the gargoyle on the corner still laughs at my regrets the featureless blanks of the chimney pipes run rainwater down on my head and the guttersnipes of the curbway near me throw back their ridicule into my face and there's NOTHING I could do nor should anyway for I have certainly not yet died or found hunger as companion or withered from disease or staggered home with blood dripping from some open wound NO NO I am sound and of good mind with just too many things to do (it seems) and not enough whatever it is to do them - or at least to do them well - and I tell myself I will I tell myself I will a hundred times a day and try to guide my landings through the marshgrass of mistake and trepidation though it doesn't always work (I have landed on my ass I have landed on my head those times my feet were absent where they should have been instead) : I've taken chalkboard to my knee and tried to write it sensibly - the everything of everything the why I've mastered nothing the things I've missed and what I've grabbed the means I've been sent packing : I've no fame nor manner I've in fact got nothing of renown or worth - only sensible moments of insensitive time and things so little missed I don't remember 'til I find what it was I forgot I'd lost : it's all so simple really THINGS ARE RUNNING DOWN as so am I but I LOOK at the morning sky and still find hope (though little) still watch the rising sun come o'er the open sky and brighten something like a day until it fades away - alas no moment such as this is ever right but yet recurs three hundred times and more a year to no avail or some I suppose : memento mori memento omnia memento Maury - whomever he may have been - I shake a whorlstick at Father Time as he races down a hill (that old fart will stumble before long - oh I know he will) I challenge the matter of death and potential and any future skirmish with meaning and free-will FOR YOU HAVE MADE ME NOTHING Lord or whatever I'm supposed to call you now YOU have made me as invisible as gas and as sick in the gut as a dead man can be JUST RIGHT before he goes - that's all that matters and that's all that shows : BUT I GUESS I'M NOT ALONE.