Escape

How extravagent, pretending
my life with words. I'm often
confused which I've lived; my
dreams, my waking, or my work?
I catch myself speaking of me as
I observe a stranger, a begger,
with intense disgust and greater curiosity.
How I snap my eyes away when I notice me.
Do I know I steal myself,
print my image in scattered
descriptions and various
references, unknowingly setting up
a decoy critics and judges can assult.
The me in the alley, sucking bottles
and palming change, does he know
I sic the hounds on him?
Does he realize I am the ground that rips
his pants, the brambles that snag his shirt?
In the madness of his life,
does he know I am his most obscure escape?

Reviews

[Winter McPherson]

What a great poem. Very deep and intensely introspective. My favorite lines;
"Do I know I steal myself,
print my image in scattered
descriptions and various
references, unknowingly setting up
a decoy critics and judges can assult."
How often we all set ourselves up for that. The lines beg to be read and reread. There's a sort of hopelessness felt in it.

[Emily B]

are you published yet? you are still one of the best poets I've ever read here