I have tried looking over without sideways glances
but there were no more chances to show anything;
no more chances to show anything good that I was worth.
Any where for’s and what have’s that didn’t make it
into the second bin that had been seconded from overland routes got glanced;
Texas Troupes couldn’t design spectacles that foment of the stomach can.
You shit on and ran from every meth whore and bartender from
Temecula to El Centro–staying away from the coast;
Wishing away what had been past from the morning since rest;
but knowing that as much as nothing that is gone can ever come back again,
It does come back again.
And when that happens,
when there are no more tides to be drawn out
and the glides of elliptical patterns that face me into the east forever
have planted me here forever as well, then…
I do not believe in the the making of new
or breaking with the old into a whole other, you.
For it is you that I have stared out into, and
sought reflections of myself that didn’t mean anything;
blighted memories that might have been
discarded as useless dreams a long time ago.
That doesn’t matter so,
insomuch as this pains me;
(The life thought had about living).
There is no giving.
There is no sharing.
There is no making up time for anyone other than myself.
There are only the gains of my own self interest.
No matter how disinterested I am,
looking sideways at the wrong street,
passing the wrong people,
in a place I should not be.