'Tis a time when I muse, “Perchance I err in some endeavor,
Or, mayhap, there’s aught awry within my spirit’s tether…”
And lo, it happens that, with toil, I scrawl almost in prose,
My usual and woeful happiness in its wretched throes.
And oft it happens that, in practice, this diplomatic sorrow,
May allure with its own creativity and tomorrow,
Yet adrift in a whiskey sour, a fragment of this soul I find,
Unearthed at the city’s sales, and left behind.
'Tis a time when I deem myself alone midst all that’s known,
And that my frailty’s too overtly shown;
And thus it happens, at times, I muse in this way,
That I am but sentiment and triviality’s display;
'Tis a time when hail in quatrains doth pelt my vehicle,
A constant chiaroscuro in Rembrandt’s miracle,
And a Camel Light steeps in a canticle so bright,
On Hesse, my Silvia, and Karl Marx’s insight.
Moments arise when thou feelest a touch of youth,
In the quietude of morn, and truth,
’Tis that thou ponderest, in the end, maturity’s prize,
More fitting for those with no regrets or ties.
And thus it happens, while still I lie and feign,
I sing for a few travelers in a wine bar’s domain,
Crafting smiles with lipstick upon the glass’s sheen,
And write, “This foulness shall pass, though unseen.”
It happens that snow descends in August’s sun,
On a Sunday, with uncertainties twirling as in Degas’ run,
And thus it happens, at times, I stay
With rhymes stifled behind a polka-dotted bow in dismay,
And hail in a verse while pondering time’s waste,
Swinging between a memory and its vain embrace.
My Mont Blanc falters in its canticle’s weight,
On Salinger, Beatrice, and Kant’s fate.
And ‘tis that, when meaning seems to lose its hold,
I lose my reason, my sleep, and grow cold,
I sing a world against the wind’s strife,
And within the assonances, I conjure my life,
A universe a touch different, where I might feign joy,
For time oft drags too slow, as shadows deploy.
And I lie on the cold cement, by a lamp gone dim,
Thinking, “Now I rise once more, as always, on a whim…”
And thus December falls as well,
And I lie on the ground with shadows, unsure why they dwell.