November 21, 2001

  • There’s not an enemy that can do me harm:
    I alone enable, empower, ennoble
    (or drag myself salaciously down). 
    So it’s always been—shall it always be?
    Or have I missed the subtle signs
    of an ominous incorporate malignancy?


    Why is it I always surge
    beyond the restrictions I find erect?
    Never yielding to merely hold and protect
    that which clearly’s found as mine—
    Bounding instead headstrong against time
     again and again and again?


    Countless are the secrets of my youth interred
    in a haze of non-consciousness
    —as if time capsules waiting to be exhumed.
    If only now I can again trick the trickster Death
    and dance down that rejuvenating gauntlet of doom.

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