Did I just bullshit a fantasy?
Like a white lie or personal fib,
slight aggrandization I tell people
to help me get through the day,
a smooth intermediate voice
that walks by unnoticed.
No matter what I do
it agrees.
Hard to detect.
A falcon’s cry my other one.
Mental cacophony.
Slices of me.
The talons of a daily struggle
have callused a mitten of sorts…

Seeds of gold, fruit of silver.
Silence becomes me.
A screamer.
A chimp with a remote control.
Tracing trajectories.
A disenchanting aura.
Living room blues.
I can’t watch this.
For ugly bastards throughout history.
What does not kill me
must try harder.