as the sparks fly upward.
-Job 5:7
Yes, it's true;
when all is said and done,
there are going to be days
when every
swallow of coffee
is hollow—
when none of the books
on your shelf
want to talk to you
while your pen
strains to ask
with its recondite scratches
if an indoor place exists
that wasn't made
to hold-in grief,
or an outdoor place
that that doesn't breed
loneliness and sorrow.
In brief, there'll be days
when taking
feels like giving;
when, for all you know, it's
your shadow
casting you. But,
since who the hell are you
to tell the difference
between the two—
let lone the difference
between someday
and tomorrow—
you must bow down
to the catch-all called
the long haul;
you must resign it all
and just call this
living.
