Breakdown

In 50 years,
students and teachers
may read my poem
and over analyze this
line by line.

I don't know
if I will be alive then
to know this but
I have confidence that
all English teachers must do so.

I don't have any control
and I don't know if I should
be honored.
All things written were
meant to be taken apart
and reattached.

Like a curious child
with building blocks,
I write this, and I'm
not willing to share
my creation.

But the kid in the corner
will charge over
as does a learner with their pencil
and knock over my blocks
with determination.

I was a passive child
and I'm a passive person.
Analyze this if you wish.
It's plain, but find out
what you wish.

Random Connections

I can't see it because it isn't there.
And no one understands.
It is easy to forget it.
You don't miss what you will never have again.

Separated at the
poorly hemmed seams,
life falls apart.
The seamstress is
out to lunch.

Wounds heal themselves.
Stitches are cheating.
Time heals most wounds.
Some are left at the mechanic's shop
in the back of the store
to be repaired later.

Line by line,
I'm confused
With many things going wrong
and nothing left
Could things get worse?
Perhaps--Murphy's law says that all that can go wrong
will go wrong.

I have seen the beginning
and I have control of my end.
The limit
as my end approaches old age
and I can't see or breath or
shit on my own.

I will be alright.