Ending Epic poem: Postmodern Epitaph

The great design for my life

Turned out to have flaws

that brought about a result

of both triumph and tragedy

life breeds

life bleeds

life believes.

Living, living in

lines wait we prepare

to become, to receive

a thing is built

this life.

When you look at it

long enough it appears

as though there is something there,

a sidelong, sideways glance

you thought that you

saw something there

the distortions

make a clear picture

unavailable at this time.

Maybe a description

will work better

chronologies are popular

great events, accomplishments

form expectations

from expectations

many beautiful memoirs

recountings, myths

we have to copy,

adapt, tame, re-frame

at our disposal.

The story

becomes reality

and outlives

its purpose

we forget

the nowness of new

and the holiness of our awareness

in every moment

trading it away

for visceral whips and tears

clinging fears

our dear companion and friend

crutch, friend, crutch.

Reflection on victim

self disintegration

self denigration

self detestation

and back again,

mediation

momentary nirvana

lapsing enlightenment

into entropic

spiritual progress.

Self acceptance

and appreciation

in the liquor store

and hands in pants

sex addicts,

heroin addicts,

crack addicts,

I’m a living addict

I’m addicted to living

this life of poor design

and unmitigated

use of poor judgement

and unbelievable

success with little or no effort

and the ability

to forget it all

and believe something new

each day

be something new

each day.

Pretend, play

act like your

having fun

after a few beers,

and cops like

rough sex

but we all do.

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