Perish The Winners' Win-Win Thoughts

Not at all surprisingly, 
Today I found myself almost 
Losing it again, that nagging 
Sense I knew who 
I was—you see 
I once thought 
I was a winner 
And everyone else 
More or less a loser, 
My friends, what 
A relief to at last discover 
We all win and lose something 
While ending up leaving 
Not surprisingly always 
Nothing in the end.

Closing In On The Poet's Elusive Objective Correlative

Moving deep 
Cross the depths 
Of your medium 

Like a crustacean, never 
Go straight to where- 
Ever it is 

You are heading—be 
It forwards or 
Back—being oblique in 

Your every movement, 
Take in as much as you can 
While doing so—this 

Will get you there sooner 
Or later, your pincers at last in 
Position to strike side- 

Long straight at the heart 
Of the scuttling always
Suspect subject matter, 

Leaving you free 
To break through 
To the untroubled

Surface for air. 

Déjà Vu, My Son

Long ago, too far back for me 
To know when for sure, I think 
Your grandfather—who was old 
Enough to be my grandfather— 
Said something to me like 

You’ll know how far you’ve come 
Only if you keep your eye 
On where you came from— 

So what do you make of that? 
Ten years younger than my father was 
When he left this life, here I am now 
Looking to see how much 
We’ve left behind and how far 
Both of us have come. 

Inscrutable Procrastinating Pedestrian Vicious Circle

Much younger, 

You were always 
Asking what 
To do next 
With yourself 

To stave off 
The haunting 
Feeling of wasting 
Precious time,

And never received
An answer that did not 
Generate another time- 
Worn question—so good so far 
And so full of youthful wit but this 

Time around, when 
Obituaries and life 
Celebrations 
Of close friends 
And relatives keep 

After you wherever 
You turn, what do you think 
The next question is 
Going to be 
Making the rounds? 

Time to go helter-skelter 
Back to square one 
While you still have enough 
Time and your threadbare wits all 
In one piece about you—

Who knows? You just might 
Make it this time around.

Muse On A Poem Relatively Speaking

Just 

Between the two 
Of us, it all comes 

Down to this one thing— 
No matter how or what 

You have to say, 
If you don’t 

Come clean with yourself 
From the beginning, 

In the end don’t 
Be surprised to find 

You mean absolutely 
Nothing to me.