Measure me in metered lines, in one decisive stare, the time it takes to get from here to there.
I'm unconsoled, I'm lonely, I'm so much better than I used to be.
Terrified of telephones and shopping mall, and knives,
and drowning in the pools of other lives.
Rely a bit too heavily on alcohol and irony. Get clobbered on by courtesy,
in love with love and lousy poetry.
And I'm leaning on a broken fence between Past and Present tense.
And I'm losing all these stupid games that I swore I'd never play.
But it almost feels okay.
Circumnavigate this body of wonder and uncertainty,
armed with every precious failure, and amateur cartography,
I breathe in deep before I spread these maps out on my bedroom floor.
Leaving. Wave goodbye. Losing, but I'll try,
with the last ways left,
to remember; sing
my imperfect
offering.

-the weakerthans, "aside"