Free Stuff on Sunday Morning

Regression Rally

You might argue that umbilicus can't define

a life. Though doesn't energy inure, 

spiral off

and siphon back? The ranges we ride over 

fall to valleys. To depend 

on friends' endurance is to call for an audience 

with a jury half-asleep and distracted 

by the spectacular flame of lives diminished 

as mine will be. Judgment's

not the point. I hear Donna pounding up 

and down the stairs and imagine her 

in black coat with scarf, out to address the world 

of her issues. There's always a knife 

to set one free, with

a mask grotesque . . . studded 

in blandness . . . to shelter 

the scarred child 

emerged. Hello, wanderer. You'll be back.