I am my own Magician

One Thousand Two Hundred

A doctor’s recommendation

A faded goal

both passed and failed

A perfectionist

satisfied with underachievement

Back when I used to live by sleight of hand

by red eye lies

by calloused fingers formed

from gut wrenching vocal cord playing

chapped lips from night praying

Through mirrors bent like plexi-glass

to snap and shred

pictures of her painted upon them

in the vivid words of television ads

the inky slurge of magazine fads

And how am I supposed to love him,

If I cannot love myself

To be complete in another

when only a third of me is brought to join

one thrown to the dogs

one eaten by thoughts

and one of me

a shell of me

to make up three

The part I force down porcelain craters

to sift through sewage grates

picking up that metallic taste

to flirt and chase with subway lines

After I had realized

just what I had consumed

The sin

of giving in

to necessity

I will never cheat again

I will have to cheat again

But i've learned to hide my fidelity

and that the family are the easiest to fool

they know too much

how out of character it is

I mean she’s a good kid

An A student

a mostly B student

a C student

A student

which counts for something

Shes got such good intentions

but shes been awfully sick lately

won't get out of bed lately

and she’s speaking of a science screwed to the point of religion

and we’re worried

and she’s worried

and a third of me is worried

that this gradual suicide I am committing

to make my life an experience worth living

Gene splitting

Clothes fitting

Marrow showing

Skin stretched to paper

a life smothered from an ember

and I am getting sicker

And that goal of one thousand two hundred

seems so far away

One thousand two hundred

a Doctor’s recommendation

measurements to fit a mortician

A disappearing act

I am my own magician.