Lucky to be alive, I have been.
Though, you know, it is possible
for Heroes to choose wrong.
I've seen
Chance has no memory of why
me, or some such silly magic potion.
No body's in motion.
Keeping warm, for themselves.
Believe you me, that which we are
we were here
filling our thanks.
The people making times I was excused...
inconsequentially
conditional
to now.
How my mother put me on the bow of a small sailboat
in rough seas as a baby,
my father ran over me in their 1969 Camaro,
a drummer man overdosed lying on top of me,
molested by my stepdad's badmate's husband,
while his two children slept nearby
made a bottle of Advil not enough medicine
to take the pain away, but made the swelling ego
go down
the tank.
Man. That was the first of many lasts.
Man. That was the first of many lasts.
Locked up 'Crazy', thrown out into the foster ghetto,
those taught me math and theoretical calculations.
The great earthquake tried to swallow me whole,
the small town ate me alive, diced me up in tiny pieces,
to spread around liberally until I could do no more harm
tastefully.
To be
T-boned at 90, spun into a tree while driving in a hurricane,
broken down so many times in BFE, broke and down
in BFE, driving drunk, or high, or unlicensed, never uninsured
hitchhiking my way around, kidnapped, poisoned, toxic shock,
pneumonias, ruptured appendix, a defunct pancreas,
weary grindstone, the corrupt gall cannot stand fat, or chit chat,
for that matter
black ice, the edges
all horizon thin,
but I keep winning, if that is what this is.
I need not know why
luck is a lady
random, like me.
