It is
so late
too late
to salvage the Hesperus
or rename
our guiding star
yet
you are there
the compass`
always
dreaming the future
in twining ribbons
of nicotine, spoonfuls
of ice cream, forkfuls
of cake
all of my vices
are endured
by you
my excuses
acknowledged
my lies
and
I know
I pretend
not to know
what will disappoint you
I know
you
want
someone
I want
I struggle
to be someone
that measures up
(you are)
you imagine me
a better man
than I will
ever be
I know you
you are
a better man
than I will
ever be
it is so
it is early
the cradle rocks
and gently rolls
in morning's weary
waves
we are
washed up
on distant shores
we are
travelers together
nervous in new ports
excited too
new faces
we are jealous
of our own liberty
we can stay
up
all night
it is too late
and perhaps too early
to rename the Hesperus
or salvage
our guiding star.
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
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