west at sunset
and alone, I understand
how the only
things I've ever owned
are the failures, mistakes, and
misconceptions
which have plagued me—
how they all staggered
after me, like the undead
in a horror film,
with hands stretched
when I tried to ditch them;
each so sincere
in its resolute faith
that its clever machination
could spring me
from the present jam;
and all of them
correct (despite their
grave miscalculations) that,
despite my refusal
to let them
touch my skin,
it has always been
my running from them
which has brought me
where I am.
