a lampshade on my head I stand by the side of the road like leftover junk from a garage sale — a thing unwanted its fate the city landfill quietly sitting, one arm on the rest of a dilapidated chaise longue threadbare and tattered each of us grappling to maintain our composure a withering sense of dignity perched on a stone I pretend to be one eyes shut, regulated breath legs crossed under me in the manner of the Tibetan I contemplate nothing under the ground I lie comfortable in my narrow box content to think of the things I have been — a lamp, an armchair, a stone a lover a scoundrel a father a son a young idealist a man of the world a teacher a criminal a nihilist a recanter a presumed psychopath a godless god 1-IX-2018