The Final Nine

You can be anything you want to be, is what the semi-anonymous adult always says, If you put your mind to it and work hard. And in his limestone eyes I see the longing of a mariner at sea these many years, catching a distant glimpse of a coastline to which his ship is not sailing. Anything I want to be, you say? Let’s face it, oddly invested non-stranger, You are talking to yourself.

I’m sorry I set you down on the bed a little harshly But there really is no excuse for crying that much Especially when Clearly All your needs had been met Honestly That shriek  That wail A weasel caught in a combine Over And over And over And over The one that genuinely hurts my ears As I tenderly hold you on my hip My spine slowly turning into a question mark My mohair voice persisting In vain attempts to comfort Then suddenly rasping into a giant Waitsian fuckyou Love briefly becomes rage and you bounce lightly But not lightly enough On the very expensive mattress we bought through the mail And I know that in a few minutes I’m going to feel guilty But for now It almost seems Like you deserved it