new book, new world, new chance, new life
new path to follow to its end
or leave and take the coward's choice
or follow, follow to the end
the days are getting longer now
but pass more quickly one by one
and we are trapped between their lines
like currants in a currant bun
like witches in a witches dance
each broomstick parked upon the pile
or lovers in a lovers' lane
a line of cars -- each shakes a while
and leaves. and who knows where or whence?
and who exactly gives a shit?
and who is watching over all
the things that make that which is it
for all we know is bounded by
our only truth -- we live, we die
Poems For My Analyst by Wayne Myers