*

In spite of all you've heard

by Scott Kurtz

In the way of my sleep
sits a distant memory,
a cataract upon my lens
between my goals and my defence.

I shudder to remember.

Sunset Boulevard, palm trees,
washed-out bleach-blonde movie screens,
affronted by the common questions
and suggestions.

I'm hollow: now or never.

In the center of the darkest night
I fell into the blackest pit
And I'm still falling, falling, falling.
I've almost come to terms with it.

And in spite of all you've heard
There was a fire, but I was not burned.
There is a God, but I am not He.
He's lying in His hammock.
He fell asleep reading a magazine.