life seems funny when all the things
that control your life, like marionette strings
are the possibilities enshrined in the one you see
from the corners of your eyes, lined with melancholy
rings from the nights you stayed awake
wishing to god that your heart wouldn't break
or driving down a light-stained street
because of the ache in your sprinting feet
from the marathons you ran on coals
for their smile, that missing piece of your soul
who knows what it's like to be alone
to hear a slicing click on the telephone
and press the receiver into their cheek
as punishment for being meek
and falling behind in that barefoot race
with a deceptively flawless face
that readily turns up with a smile
and promises to love you longer than a little while.