Constant Rebirth (Ash Wednesday Poem, 2003)

My house hemorrhages my tired ass like an

Amniotic sac

And I am, indeed

Covered in blood, leaking snot, somewhat phallic and

Tired.

Threading pipe is like any other construction job.

Meticulous. Painful. Tiring.

A red light going off telling you to run like fuck.

The sun is coming out and

Here come the horns from Unbreakable in my head and

It stops, suddenly; all silent.

I missed school again.

Not like that’s anything new,

But this quarter, my last,

I have missed roughly 23 of 30 classes.

I am going to flunk out of college

2 weeks from completion of

5 years of study.

And I don’t care.

Birthed now, as earlier, in poetry,

I have my great life experiences.

Everyone tells me I am a fool because

Hypothetical syllogism implies

If college then learning then money then happiness,

So college is happiness.

They are wrong.

The law is

If experience then poetry then truth then happiness,

And in these my dreams lie.

Some say this is a weakness.

Sometimes we settle for weakness.

I count myself among them,

Smiling,

Holding this book and

A threaded pipe

In my hand

With the world.

What can a rich, “learned” man tell me about drilling through my nuts and laughing about it?

What does a degree offer a man who can write the day away, to wit?

What makes more sense?

Rats are considered more intelligent

In classical conditioning

If they go for where the cheese was

Even after it has been removed,

Whereas the rats who

Go away from the empty path

With haste

Are considered moronic.

Another foolish fallacy

I am birthed.

This is strength.

Finding what it takes to be a man

In purported “failure”

Feeling like a success.

Besides-

I still remember what a Planarian is,

Anyway.