A Tuesday poem-

One Last Chance

In ten years, loyal glue
will have stuck me here
in spite of your wall,
indifferent convenience,
more than half my life.

I smell like bad cheese,
the furious stink of bitter
held in, every pedagogy
says, no- the writer is not
the story, somewhere else

the truth curls smoke
around implications,
summer porches where
nice people sit, drinking
up their creative alibis.

Is everyone half-blind?
Or is it just me, only
the lonely can make it
real, time catches flies,
waves traffic around

a stalled heart, shouts
"clear" then leaves
the room backwards
as if eye to eye combat
takes prisoners. Can I

go now? mouth set
for adventure, new
possibilities popping
in my ears, nothings
whispered at my neck.