i wish not to err or flood my bandwidth, you know
the bandwidth of my youth. always pulling back
and slapping one’s own wrist, reminding you of
the longing looks you cast out of the window. when
you have to do what you have to do when you have
to do it, the tides of delirium will short circuit your
focus. you’ll ascribe your pain to some external locus,
forget marcus aurelius, forget buddhist scripture, all
pain is no longer within your control, you only walk
so fast as you can walk, diminishing returns upon
diminishing returns, and now you are no longer superhuman,
and now you no longer walk with wrists like steel.
but as you stare out the window you always hoped
for something more. a circuit of scripture that would
elevate you to youth again, with wrists like steel. that
the pain would dissipate and you’d be superhuman,
and flood yourself with tides of control. all you ever
wanted was control, to err on the side of the better man,
to be able to pull others out of delirium, returning longing
looks with longing looks. now we will walk as we always
have continued to walk, with a slight limp.