42
to be
quite honest
i thought i’d be a legend by now
though i’ve done nothing legendary
one of those self-satisfied artists
who could no longer
get the word down
choosing instead to rest on my laurels
repackage the old hits
in the same different way
but it’s still the struggle
the hangovers
the early morning noise of the city
waiting on the right words to come and save me
life is like that
some get the brass ring easily
and others get indigestion in the middle of lunch
it’s all a crap shoot
violent, chaotic at times
but mostly dull and unsatisfactory for everyone
with little glimmers of magic thrown in
to let you know what it could always be like
we accept it and call it existence
i accept it
and still wake
hoping to beat the dawn at its own game
with poems and fiction
a greatest hits collection still in the mixing stages
the collected works perpetually on hold
forty-two
placed lovingly before obscurity’s long gaze
anonymity’s fragile kiss
at times no longer sure
if i even know myself
am i the aging man always walking with me
his puffy visage collected in the warped glass
of cars windows and buildings
or am i still that young ambitious kid
the one who’d never settle in long enough
to embrace his own
fleeting mortality
or some sad sack song
such as this.
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