A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Friday, April 12, 2019

past bastard

There's something extremely compelling
to me, about imagining myself
as a bastard, in tiny sharp ways
that I'm not, and
ugh. Never would be
no. Even though

I feel like there are tiny sharp ways
I've been a bastard

hell

of course there are, but so
difficult to drag them out
from memory, where they love

to go.

I sure damn don't find those compelling.
Can't even remember them, some times. Most
times. They weren't THAT bad.
So why the fascination, then? With
future/alternate bad self, done
shockingly in radical and different
sharp and tiny ways again?

I hate to sheepishly admit
I think I think it's protocol
to blaze away each unsafe path
I could have *cough* gone down,

is all. Install

some pre-determined turn aside,
from wrong-way road now burnt and cauterized -

No chance now left to do the thing
Not having known, not having seen

Not having gone that way,
I won't!

I drifted daydream
that way once. I did not like that me
I am, I love to root against that man

and relish all his villainous turns
- he has quite dashing ways, and earns
his comeuppance, with chill and charm

I promise you
He shall not do
a harm.

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