they all used
to tell me—
as if I
was really
a caped crusader,
a crimefighter
cloaked in a nom de guerre.
They may have
had a point there
about the mask
of duplicity,
but some superhero
I've turned out to be—
I can't even seem
to bend
even slightly
the bars
in the prison
of this body.
*
Trying to convince yourself
there's no such thing as solidity
is a lot like banging
your head against a wall.
Protons,
electrons,
gamma radiation—?
Referring to yourself
in the first person
suddenly just feels wrong.
*
There's nothing pacific
about the ocean,
the way it
keeps thrashing its wings
against the sand.
But who am I
to envision a better way?
Who am I
to say
how to bear—
to withstand?
Immeasurable
reach
needs
impossible hands.
