Something Like Happiness

Coffee stains
and razor blades
and mismatched socks
and dirty mops,
a string of benign
and beautiful shots
that snap imagination
out of hibernation.
The smells are familiar,
like I once lived here,
but ran screaming
with fear.
A feckless foe
faces me,
stares me down,
asks too much of me.
To break
down
apart
up
off:
the thought
leaves me
numb.
And I'm already cold
from a tale so old:
a fairytale nightmare
in which I disappear.
A damsel in distress -
perhaps you know the rest -
with her dazzling prince
and a moment's glimpse
of something like happiness:
it feels so warm,
but only when you are,
like blankets from the dryer
or maybe hell's fire.
Still, your steps sound distant
and your voice is so faint
and I dream that you're nearer,
my reflection in a mirror,
so I could see you clearer.
But dreams vanish with the sun;
they mock me just for fun.
I'm writing you this story
of lonesome glory,
but my pen's in your hands:
you decide how it ends.


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"...I felt just about the closest to this stuff that is called happiness as I have ever struck." Woody Guthrie Bound For Glory