November Poem

It's here that the day breaks
in half, brittle as butterscotch lodged in a molar.
Sadness is reignited wholesale. A winsome
if not pompous disregard for the details
of my life. I've scoured my biography until it is
easy to communicate all the lessons I've learned
in a sentence in order to save myself trouble the next time around.
I promise I'll get it right once.
If you ask you'll hear that I've lived
a moderately interesting life.
I mean, I've done this before, I know the routine,
but I want you to remember the details.
Take a deep breath and prop yourself up so
as to look awake, so as to be alive as you once were.
The air is rippled so the walk to the car is difficult for no
other reason than the thrill of imbalance
and the adventure of moving in a dark time.
When did I start believing things would ever change?
Or that people would ever care what
I said for a living? You're living all the time
even when you're thinking about dying, you're alive.
Should I call for you in the damp night ?
What could you possibly provide that isn't already there?
Are you waiting to lead me in, away from that place
I sought but now reject? This place doesn't need me
and it will be just fine without me, as will I.
I'm ready to go. It's really nothing
and no one here will remember my name.
I'll just be that guy in a long line of visitors
that came and now is gone. Hello Brooklyn.