Saturday, January 3, 2015

Slamming Doors

And here I am, that audience of one,
As always, after midnight, for the show:
That sick play self-produced, that ever-slow
Uncurtaining of all my never-done,
My never-can, my never-will, begun,
As always, night by night, within the glow
Of pointless hope and useless farrago,
As always, disappointing. Chorus? None.

And here I am, again, as always: Me.
I play the part myself, and all my schemes
Collapse to the applause of slamming doors.
I wear my childhood cloak: futility.
Yet I would rather fail in my own dreams
Than gain success in borrowed rags of yours.

-- Saturday, January 03, 2015.

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