ON THE LINE BETWEEN AUTUMN AND WINTER

I.

Between what could have been
and what was
lies The Land Of Regret
where the hotel service is lousy
the beds are never made
(the sheets get so tangled)
and it's always raining
You can go there 
for a visit
but don't stay too long
and never buy 
a one-way ticket
or you will never come back 

II.

I've had more embarrassing moments
than you
due to a proclivity
for winging it 
in situations that required
a boy scout's preparedness
counting on some magic
unrealism to carry the day
and when it didn't
(which was 99 percent)
I developed a taste for the raw egg
that was dripping down my face
and so I wince
when reviewing the past 
but that die is cast
life is still a blast

III. 

I journeyed back 
to my little town
population two hundred six
in its heyday
to find it in ruins
the little cafe where all the kids
fed the jukebox and pinball machine
workin' on those night moves
at least in their heads
now just a storehouse
for some rickety furniture
the pool hall 
gone
the people I knew 
gone
it was like a war memorial
in the quiet aftermath 
of a bloody conflict 
where I literally fought
to survive as an 
outcast and a loner
and yet have always felt
better off for being battle tested

IV.

I stand behind my life 
the way the man who follows
the elephant down the street
with a shovel and a wheelbarrow
stands behind his work


V.

No one is unlovable
if you don't believe it
check out the couples
down at your local Walmart


VI.
I can write about old loversfamily and friendswith no trepidationand I dothey don't read my workthatintimate strangerI leave to you
VII. 

I've searched for meaningin this carnival world 
that surrounds me
only to learn
there's nothing to do
but join in the dance

VIII.

It shifted to winter seamlessly
there was nothing you could point to
that said you've crossed over
but somewhere along the line
you did of course
autumn days still mild
nights portending of what's to come
the scent of wood smoke in the air
then one morning you awaken
and the world around you 
has grown cold
and you brace 
for December's finality