ISSUE: Winter 1998
In a past death, I was a deaf-mute mercenary,
unable to distinguish between “shooting at” & “shooting with.”
I was an army of resentful stepsons, each of us sweet as a brass
lollipop.
I was a stain-proof hermit in a beef-pink hermitage,
recording new data about silence.
That was back when I still believed I could be nobody someday.
Since then, I’ve been the greatest follower of the free world
& the undisputed leader of the captive one.
Since then, I’ve been God, infinite mime,
trapped inside a shrinking, box-shaped universe
& I’ve been Satan, most relentless of editors, revising the 9 1/2
deadly sins
until deicide, sorrow, & shoplifting get cut.
I’ve been a man in the moon, a damsel in distress, & a eunuch in
Utica.
I’ve been the mother of all battles & the overbearing father of all
brokered truces.
I’ve been the boy next door & the girl buried beneath the
floorboards.
I’ve been the Daughters of the American Revolution & the
orphaned sons of cola wars.
Lucky kids get born into squalor. I got born into an eternity suit.
I breathe a fresh air of resignation with every life I pin to the
lapel.
