22 April 2008.
[I can’t believe I’ve made it this far in NaPoWriMo.]
One of Many, One of One
This works best, I say, when
he’s in the drudgery of his life.
When he’s not a rockstar drowning
in ass, accentuating the word ass
to make some sort of statement,
a gesture toward how ludicrous
the entire situation is unfolding.
Sometimes he doesn’t answer—
that’s when I know I’m one
of many. And I can never compete
with many. My words crumble
and fall apart in the face
of the living and breathing.
I push at the construct I’ve built,
poke and prod along the edges
of this persona shell. It will unravel
eventually, assuredly, as pages
cleave away from each other
as a book opens, as the prose
is exposed. As I’m exposed.
One of one implies alone
even when it whispers otherwise.