I’ve been better.  Seen clearer skies.
Hounded out by many for reasons
I’m too ashamed to say.  I tried
Staying far away, and leaving them,
But they crowd around like flies
On butter.  They cry: Reply Requested.

Pages and pages of heartache amassed
On the once-empty surfaces at home.
Months and years came and passed,
I hardly recognized them at all.
My wish was to be left alone at last.
Still they come and say: Reply Requested.

Torn and torn and torn and torn to shreds,
Chapters, pages, sections of my life—gone.
Though I live this emptiness, the end I dread.
How final that end is.  And how immutable.
Somehow into the arms of living death I fled;
And this life has made it clear: Reply Requested.

What moment did the sunny skies cloud over?
I’d like to understand the things I’ve done.
What impetus made that once-shy boy bolder,
And sent him out among the rocks to rest?
Early June mornings freeze like late October.
Years of grotesque shape declare: Reply Requested.