I Want to Tell You

[A]
I want to tell you. What my life is like. What the days feel like as they pass. One by one. From oblivion to oblivion.
How the ticking of slow moving clocks. Beats on my temples. Cracks my brain. Mourns the death. Of all that was ever holy.

I want to tell you. Why I do what I do. Why I am who I am. And carefully explain. How I am different from you.
Why I think deeply. About shallow things. Seek to throw light. Into corners. Filled with dust. And my own yearning.

I want to tell you. How it is and how it was. What I've seen and what I've learned. From years spent alone. In semi-darkness.
What ties me down. Tethers me to the past. Places my body behind keyless doors. Traps my spirit in a cardboard box.

I want to tell you. Where I first lost my way. Why the road beneath my feet. Became indistinguishable from the stars.
Where I turned aside. From the primrose path. A street strewn with razor roses. My ankles covered with scarred tissue.

I want to tell you. What and why and how and where. But when all you have is a story to tell. You choose your words carefully.
This I offer as my legacy. Marks on a page. Dog whistle calls to arms. Remnants of bloodless battles. And life in the margins.

[B]
It is a nagging sadness that clings to my shoes. A propensity for singing the blues. All that I see. Assimilates quickly.
Afflicted by metaphor. And fairy lore. I am pebbles and mud on a welcoming mat. I wanted to tell you that.

It is company kept by candle light. Outrageous blindness and occasional insight. A wick burning. A page turning.
Plagued by doubt. Off my head and route. I am a chair where once a wise man sat. I wanted to tell you that.

It is a pause in search of meaning. A divine damning and a dirty redeeming. A silence that mocks. A pocket full of rocks.
Ruined by rhyme. Time after time. I am a stubborn old mule and a pack rat. I wanted to tell you that.

It is a walk in the badlands, the air thick with smells. Where the soul sleeps and the heart dwells. The what to-do. Always at issue.
Struggling in vain. Neither sane or insane. I am a song for my supper and tit for tat. I wanted to tell you that.

It is a footnote, no more, to other lives and loves. Hats in a ring and anger thrown gloves. Losses and wins. Empty bins.
Not a masterpiece. Merely a release. I am the wolf at the door and a fireside chat. I wanted to tell you that.