On Giving In: An Excerpt

To say nothing is going to change my world is too grand a claim, too banging beat of percussive droning, minor keys, moving with an unknown orchestra, and give into the song, come with the song, let the song change my world.  Let it be the song for the moment. 

It is always an ode, a couch at five in the morning, a crowd of watching friends wanting me to be happy (this could never be).  I’d like to think my back porch, my cigarettes mean something more than my slowly yellowing teeth and the coughs from colds that last too long.  This may be a hard winter for me.  I don’t know how to move through the wetness, to pull together the weather, to ride through it and to ride it out.