wild men often have a few good years, then burn
out like a flare.
and who’s to say the goal should be longevity?
who’s to say that quantity trumps quality?
maybe the wild men only ever wanted a few good
years, and that was enough for them.
everything else was just a bother, nothing
to be looked forward to.
yep, a few good years, and then
well, if not death, then
something like it.
just drifting in a haze,
coping with what’s left.
those few good years, though, wow!
wild men wouldn’t trade ’em for anything.
not even a signet ring with superman embedded
in the clear lacquered stone.
This poem was first published in FUCK!, Vol. 11, No. 9, September 2008. It also appeared in Zygote in My Coffee, print issue #6,Winter 2009. And it appears in the book from the poet, Gorilla Architecture (Interior Noise Press, 2011).