How does it feel
To be a burglar
On the lamb
Or condemned man awaiting
The deathly shock.
To feel the acid pain
Or the dry salt-taste of anxiety
On the tongue?
What is it like
To be adrift
On an ocean of friendless time?
Alone on a queen-sized bed
In a California suburb
In the mid-September
Of life?
It is like my life
On this bed
In this suburb--
At times
Wishing my life will be short
At times
Hoping it will be long.
And who knows why?
To discover the nickel at the
Center of the palm
The dollar at the
Center of the truth?
Perhaps there is wisdom
Hidden in all of this.
But who knows
Where?
In the silence––
In the patience––
Nothing more.