eating reality sandwiches
and reading the planet news
there’s a perfect circle in my mind
Maynard drew it up with blonde wig and all
American spirit in hand
and smoke rises from fingers folded
the moments return as I burn page after page
so close to perfection even if the circle
isn’t perfect or purple and who cares
what the opposite of evil
really is no one is really there anyway
so close to being where I want to be
walking the halls of a museum
never seen this beauty
nothing’s perfect except imperfection
Maynard has got to know this
all of my closest friends are dead writers
or ones I have never met
eighteen and twenty-three
numbers staring at me
from books half a century
since friends were in this spot
where I sit daily so close to what I want
on the edge ready to jump
the looming question remains
will I make it will I survive another fall
regardless of how hard it is
and what it involves
there is a muse somewhere
instantly a courage comes over me
rise up to be reckoned with
let me know that I will survive
any fall everything will work out
in some way…
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