Get Over Myself

this daylight is killing me

softly now, so is my age

itches at my moods and sketches on my skin

can't strictly call it a crisis, although exaggerated states of high alert

seem to be rife among the young and lost and lonely, these days

a generation trapped in a maze of pixels and cheap experiences

stutter this way and that way and snatch at their reflection in shop-windows

so at least someone is looking at me

I am flat on my back in this wet dirt and I can't close my eyes and settle

here with the worms and other critters of the soil, left for dead

at the bottom of a seven-year ditch, all trussed up in overdue reckoning

this poor soul, waylaid by bandits and robbed of inconvenient indulgences

or perhaps succumbed, like so many of his time, to the pandemic of apathy

going on-and-off the meds can't be helping with the state of his nation

many weeks of nights are spent furtively, knitting skeins made of distortion

like abandoned scarves left at bus stops by dear, deteriorating grandmas

(I also mutter and fuss at 4am and forget to put my shoes on)

writing darker versions of the same verse, endlessly ranting

about supposed scars and slights, a mandala tattoo-ed on think skin


I just left the car running while I ducked in for a quick coma

and now the battery is dead

so I walked down to the local and aimed a transparent pout at the dartboard

but missed 'brooding intensity' and hit 'sad loner'

dressed in seven day stubble and drinking as if he'd never stopped

dole blown on $3 trifectas and chicken parma

heads home up the hill in 35 degrees and down to silver, as if allergic to gold

I should be acting my middle age, singing only on the freeway

when alone in the car, dreaming only of reachable goals

once I was surrounded by a scenery of friends and an amnesia of fans

once I had a calling and, I'm told, a bright and pleasing aura, quite visible

but then, like you, I was young once too

maybe the pendulum swings back

again to Confidence, Progress, Drive, Destiny

reveals a final act that provides such a satisfying resolution

the character arc gently lands on a plush emotional payoff

the curtain calls and the standing ovations attest

to unapologetically playing to the cheap seats

maybe this will be my memorable third

where I outlast this shipwreck like I did all the other ones

maybe I write a great album, rising from the grave to scare the kids with my make-up?

maybe I will wake up leaving the ground and find the air like an orphaned bird?

ffs I didn't ask once how you were doing

and go home down to silver as if I'm allergic to gold

I should act my middle age sing only on the freeway when I’m alone in the car and only dream of reachable goals

maybe the pendulum will swing back to Confidence & Progress

maybe tomorrow is everything or maybe it is nothing at all

maybe I can last this latest shipwreck

Maybe write another good record

maybe I'll scare the kids with my make-up

convert all this crumpled paper into gold

one day wake up leaving the ground

finding the air like an orphaned bird