day after day i drive

day after day i drive
drive by the park
avert the eyes
drive to work
driven to drive
one wall-eyed bull
among the pestered kine
while  the key to everything
the key to all my soul’s desire
lies inside that
avoided common—
it is the key
for a knight!
it awaits the hand
of a courageous soul and i
am not brave at all
i can join a thing
but i cannot start a thing—
driven to keep driving
to stay on the road
to stay in the lane
to stay off the grass

do you know what is the secret shame
of Everyman?
the secret shame of Everyman is the knowledge
that he is only Everyman, after all—
the secret fear of Everyman
is that every man is alone

today, though, is a different day
no braver than i ever was
but so much older—
people sensitive to auras
wince when i approach
i feel the tingle of the shifting lights of me
upon my flesh
i read it in their eyes
that i am dying and being born
so quickly that i look like both at once—
i know that death and birth are equal—
how could it not be so?
consider birth
i am not born
i am born
what is the quantam between not and am?
between am and not?
i am alive
i am not alive
between am and am?
I am immortal
I am already dead—

at last I go into the park
where all my neighbors move and walk
and talk and watch their puppies piddle
on the funded, municipal trumpet lilies
beside the busy, busy path—
i set my drum and guitar upon the grass
i unfold my chair
with a sledge i hammer my sign into the earth
Music and Joy
7PM until forever
Right Here
then i sit in the chair, pop a cool one, and wait

i am not afraid

—Don Whittington


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