The presence of your first mistake undid the paper
On the walls of your former happiness.

When you did it wrong
You undid the years of right and the innocence
Of your presumption.

You became a con in a room of schoolboy innocence.
You became judged by your intermediate mistake.
Even when you were skiing through the deep powder
In the bowls at Vail

People saw a ball and chain bouncing around
In the white wake.


If you open up the lid you will find another lid.
This can is hooded like your eyes.

There is no space for the possibility of storage.
It is all cover on cover.

I cut my finger on your top.
I kiss you because I like to watch my lip bleed.

You are solid like compression.
You don't pile up on me like little tins.

I am an old goat.
I once was attractive like shiny aluminum in the dump.
Now I am preparing to die in a Campbell's Soup Can
Under a red and white label.


There is nothing I can say and something I can undercut.
You called me irresponsible while
You were cutting school and pulling the pony tails
Of little girls.

I didn't mean it.
There are tendencies I can't close down in a clamshell.
The target put up a sign:
'Do not shoot here.'
If you can't hit the target you will always be amiss.
There are times when it feels like my life is in left field.
The catcher can never run out to me before I am hit.


If the occurrence never happens then you will be left sifting
Sand between your fingers.

What falls falls and what lasts doesn't really.
Life keeps slip sliding away like the Paul Simon song.
I don't like midgets.
Damn his voice.

I put a broken glass in the ocean because I don't want to catch
The water.
I cut my finger.
I see where my life begins and where it spreads out among waves.

     © David Lawrence 2011