It was a vain endeavor.
All the plants and leaves
Took pity on it as it
Hung out in the wind.
Princesses noticed its
Ridiculous asinine shadow
As it hung out there torn
For a moment and said
Poor, poor vain endeavor,
To go on so long-a lifetime-
And amount to nothing
And not be worthy
Even to be pissed on by the goddess.
But I sanctioned it.
I called it of quiet
Someone who has received a terrible shock
And is returning to life
Looks across the subway platform
Where teenagers hang from bars
And pull amazing stunts in fluorescent light.
Camera gives perspective of depressed person’s gaze;
Editor adds hollow voice over.
“Such energy and all for something pointless.”
Doors close, trains go their opposite ways.
Recycling in my Forties
Advice about epithet exchanged
In our hypothetical writer’s workshop
Brought Jennifer back to me
From among the fluttering ghosts.
For pitifully by this age we never
Seem to love afresh but only through
The overlaid image of face
And variation as it dances
Towards you. How humbling that discovery,
How wonderful and unpleasant.
I’ll be your american idol
If you be my Starbucks and wi-fi hook-up,
Deal? The sun also rises.