The heart is gray. Why am I nervous
day to day, night to night. Why am I not
an extra-extrovert like say Jay Leno
who drives motorcycles wildly as if he
were a Hell's Angel. Why can I not
at most have the arrogance of Obama
who is like a Drill Sergeant that spits fire
through his coaxing lips. I have done thirty
in a sixty-mph zone while feeling pressed
for time, pressed to the chest. I hope
that I become more attractive the older
that I get, perhaps it will start now.
As soon as I am finished writing this
professional poem & enlightening
the world, I am going to go look into
the reflective-glass & diaphanously reflect
like a sty, dumb with horror, staggering
yet grinning.
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