fidget--7/2

Fidget

I went out on a limb (as it is
always dangerous to do)
and nearly broke my neck.
There were no birds on the canopy
of that same oak I've climbed over and over again
no promises from the robin of springtime
and certainly no bluebird of happiness
(the birds had flown)
so I just fell
with no idea
how I'd catch myself.

No one hears of thsoe near-death experiences
where there is no light at the end
no wedding gowns or quiet bedside lamps
just a darkness black as licorice
and just as bitter.
An eternity of damp basements full of sweating bodies
dancing under a shit-ton of asbestos,
and you're the only one standing by yourself
They'll hold out their tongues to catch the snow
and you're the only one who knows
this is no acid trip,
no French absinthe.

Try living your life being sure of nothing
except the fact that you'll grow old
and accessorize as you always have:
with a bottle of pills and a sloppy notebook.
Try being the only one to know
that love is just a hologram carrot
and you're still one of the stupid mules chasing after it.
Try waking up in the kind of sweat
that you haven't felt since you were forced to attend church
each Wednesday night in Indian summer
that exact brand
of discomfort.

So you fidget.
Sit up straight in your bed
nothing green or pale or golden
will get you to sleep and wait until 4 a.m.
when the last thing you want to hear
is birds and how they call to morning
as if she's a centerfold.