I would wax poetic if it meant my skin turned white
Walk down the street not worried that I might
Cast a shadow but Sandman said “Checkmate”
My king tumbled off of the worn out board
Landed with a thump on the living room floor
“Long live the dream! The king’s no more!”
Yelled Sandman as he hopped onto the sofa
He then pointed at me and said
“Look at you, you think so far ahead
You become afraid to move
No queen. No bishop.
So you must be the fool.”
I wondered how this man could never rest
“I might have a queen but time is the test”
“Oh,” he replied, “luck be to the rover
Though, knowing you, it’s already over.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I asked, straightening up
He rolled his eyes
“Little hardy boy doesn’t know he’s a fuck up?”
He did not have to tell me twice. I knew my station
A man of nowhere is but an abomination.
My skin is the colour of the earth
I don’t want people walking all over it like it’s dirt
“Tut tut” went Sandman, “Boy, for someone
Who claims to be a poet, you’re playing with the words wrong
A man of nowhere could be a man of anywhere
So why do you chase your tail like a cub who’s scared?”
“Is it not the same thing? I can’t point to the start
I’m afraid it ends in the same nothingness
That it’s all some great farce
That God’s laughing in a chair somewhere
Wine spraying out his nose
Doubling over when he hears that all I want to know
Is if life’s about topography or altitude
I heard you can’t get into heaven with priors
Is that another joke or is it true?
And if we are here to serve time
How are sentences revoked?
And what’s the whole deal with the idea
That only the universe knows
That the universe conspires in weird wild ways
If you meet the universe, tell it to step out of my way
‘Cause if you ask me, I think the universe is a sadist
For always tearing me away from all my happy places”
“This is entertaining
I could say life is what you make it
But that’s an old saying
We need something fresh
Let me ponder
Continue what you were saying.”
He crossed his legs as I reckoned with my head
Was I fighting for the wrong things
Did I not know it yet?
For all my rage at a drunken god and the conspiring
They did introduce me to the mighty high of flying
But why give a kid a taste if it is just to tease?
I’m trying to tune into into her station
But I got the wrong frequency
And maybe Sandman’s right
Maybe I can own the road
And maybe a couple miles down
I’ll have a working radio
I just don’t know if I can start in the middle
Everything up to now reads like one big riddle
It feels like I’ve been riddled
I’m trying to fill in the holes
Pack it in. Pack it up. Ready. Set. Go.
When I’m six feet deep
Or lit up high
What will I leave behind?
A legacy of ruins, a couple jottings
In the fridge
Half a tub of Baskin-Robbins?
And what will I get to take with me?
All I can think of is a VHS
Or Baudelaire’s poetry
“I got it!” he said
Eyes full of glee
He beckoned me over
And whispered to me