I’ve never been real, I realized
too late, soul sucked, plastered flat,
surveying that this isn’t a game
anymore over and again, eyes on the horizon
thrust over, into and through, hear the birds
shriek of desperation, each call vital
audible survival, haunting hopelessness, for some
know doubt, starving in winter dusk
on a tree branch, desperate, looking without
seeing for hours, miles and ages.
Now to acquaint myself
with the truth, I will seize all the records
of those that came before, much may be
tattered bloody, waving lightly, wafting
breezy, whispering war
over candlelight, dim dusky deep dwellers,
loving the musk, drinking blood straight
from the source, of suffering springs a new
hope, so warrantless.
It seems, so anyway I am waking up
tomorrow again, next factorial stepladder
struggle of days, until it becomes life
which is death, always, we know this
don’t we?