Always all these ways to live.
Gotta make decisions with precision.
Fantasy and fiction addictions.
They watch and claw at the options:
“Maybe I could prowl seedy pool halls reveling in nose candy and brutality.”
“Pretty sure I could lead the confident and cushioned life of the 401 k crowd.”
“Perhaps I could tote semi-automatic rifles and an invincibility complex.”
“I bet I could download Ableton and produce music that I give to the world
and make fame appear on my own terms.”
“I’m sure I could be a disciplined athlete sponsored by Vitamin Water.”
“I’ll just be whatever antagonistic outsider whose own poverty
or homosexuality or musical obsession or political belief
or religious belief or inescapable past
dictates my entire identity
as I remain on the defensive,
fighting the world.”
And we could give up all this “ME”
that we have tentatively built in the shadows
of our families and peers in order to chase a new identity
or join the Cause, be it anti-cronyism, anti-Capitalism,
anti-immigration, anti-GMO or
pro-narcotics legalization, pro-globalization…
I’ve spent my time unsure of its absolute value,
seconds towards a feeling, minutes on a conversation,
hours in a classroom, months in a relationship, years at this job.
Dead in the end. Mixed up til then.
Mixed up in a fist fight between
this fleshy lonesome you
and this projection of imaginative ambitions.