Self-Help
I was someone in the distance
who never got closer.
I lived in the past, so the present
was my future.
When I shook hands, I dissolved
into a mirror
where I tended
my reflection
of features so faint
my mother
strained to see them.
I was the rind, the zest,
a heart marooned
in the guest of a friend
in the back row
of a twelve-step room.
I confessed to the priest
in his box, suppressed
the north, south, east, and west
desires that pull men
over the moon.
I crooned the self-help
tune that every glance
is a gift, every second
chance a first,
the suicide fence
on the tall bridge
a positive thing
for those crawling the walls.
2020-05-17 18:15:41
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