On My 33rd Birthday

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Here I am weary in my entreaties, there’s no one here but a man and his dog alone among my rambling reveries and a small libation to clear its fog. To God bespoken that I may foresay my own confessions at the water’s edge, where the dull debris of time ebbs away and harbingers of death gaze from their ledge. For here upon this cold Stygian sea drifts a hollow vessel its depths to fade - a broken wreckage of a lost glory where hope is sunk and its memory laid. Look, all I ask and all I want from you, Lord, is to have my cake and eat it too. Written: January 1994

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