ALL MY LIFE
I am gone now; just a trace remaining, yet all
my life I kept waiting for something to break out -
some ragged, raging beat for the slow music of
time - I'd been listening to that dirge forever,
yet nothing ever happened. And now, so many
years later my mind is a box, broken with a bad
lid at the top. Fifty years ago it little mattered.
Every dark street led somewhere new, everyone
belonged to another; I was homeless and, it seemed,
arrayed against myself. I took any hand offered,
and I walked off down any wooded lane.
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