There are some inalienable truths in life. There will always be something to worry about. There will always be something you should be doing. There will always be something to fix. There will always be room to grow. To learn. You can be better. You will be better. But that does not mean you are not all right, right now.

You are simply on your way. You’re in the car. The radio is on. You’re adjusting the dial or scrolling through your mp3 collection. 

You are simply on your way.

——————–

In Utero

I met an old friend for drinks.
He was good, aged, but good.
We spoke of older friends and trends,
mistakes we made in assuming we were men
some time ago, some time ago… and he grinned.
Are we men? Have we reached some monumental end?
Have we deciphered anything more
than the consequences of experience?
No paths unfold, only retrospective tracks, the traffic
of the past, the mathematics of subtraction.
And multiplicity, he offers, was just an auction room floor
for us to feel like we were more
than the miracle of a beating heart
consuming one gasp and expelling another;
like a steamboat, audible and uproarious,
urgent but arduous. It has taken many coals
to entertain the delusion of a fitter frame,
but is this the path? Whittling away at a branch
with an auteur’s pretense, a willful negligence
of the exterior sentence;
I will grow.

I will grow.