[legacy.]

I am not a poet, a clown to entertain you,

Guilty of nothing but parlor tricks to earn

An admirable gasp, to win the affections

Of sullen little ideological disasters with legs

Agape to devour what was left of my pride.

I don't have a gift that was bestowed upon

Me, that I have to carry like a beast of burden

Through a sea of meaningless affections and 

Trite little electronic messages of misplaced

Love. I don't want this to be my sad legacy;

A path of destruction and blood-shaped

Pools left to cake over time before the rain

Can wash away my every public disgrace.

I want to meet the Marlboro man and ride

Off with him, off into a cancerous sunset.

I want to spew bile and breathe smoke, unable

To make you smile or ever utter my name 

In your misguided orgasmic indiscretions.

I want to lay my bones amongst the rocks and

The roots, letting them dry out in the sun --

Time becomes the ultimate factor of my fallacy;

My legacy that I intend to mock until I lie.