The Limits of Our Time

The man stumbled through us,

After the swim,

And swirl,

And pulses pulled away.

He fixed me a postage-due gleam

And with Girls Gone Wild spectator splendor

Said, “Dude, you’re the man.”

Funny,

I don’t feel like the man.

I’m just confused again.

Halfway down the block,

The corner zigged instead of zagged

And I was abandoned again,

The water thrown out with the weekend.

Once again,

Underneath all potential damage,

I’m lying unfulfilled and empty,

Going on eleven.

October 14, 2010
Categories: Poetry . . Author: Y

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