Lost and found

Somewhere it will be said (or thought) that I became a lost case

I know I’m lost but I don’t want to be found

What would it mean?

I’m stranded at my own fault

I walked around cities and graveyards

I talked to city dwellers and frightened them

I explained myself but

People walked right through my explanations as if through imaginary friends

“I thought you saw my points,” I complain

“I did,” people reply, “I still do,” they assure me

And then they walk right through them again

There is no use in getting upset

(Who wants the awareness—or to hear the scratches of —the bug trapped in a bathtub?)

In the end let it be known

I fought against depression

– And material success wouldn’t have helped—

Material success would have meant talking in circles to avoid the darkness and the terror

It would have meant never crossing the line that we barely see

– And when we do see it, we shudder at the thought of drowning–

You may be a canary or a dove; I’m a raven, a crow

A progressing condition

I feel it going on

I long for the desert