Algebraic youth

The ratio of hearts broken
to girls loved

lacked only the coefficient
of understanding

statistics quantify the what
fail to enumerate
the costs, causes and effects

showing the work only proves
what I have long known;
I suck at math.

Meditative bombast

What I have inflicted on life and
its responsorials and reprisals
on me have proven that regrets
teach – if you do the homework

things, events once inexplicable
are simply lessons learned in an
evolving matriculation; tuition
deferred, knowledge incurred,
debits carried forward, erased

Unlike my youthful self
I am far less Dylanesque, unless
positively traveling Fourth Street

Such is life, such am I – and you?
in spite of failures and shortfalls,
perhaps because of them,
subsequent successes make me
realize it has all come so swiftly,
sweetly and simply by way of
perspiration born of desperation

and plain dumb luck

To be sure of life is to know that
failure equals inspiration,
while youthful triumph is just rote
mathematical miscalculation.

Success (survival) is startling news.

Here I stand, having purged the
regrets, how-comes and what-ifs;
sweetly savoring varietal
demons as muse.

Fact

This may make you
sing laugh dance or cry
but the reality is
you will always be dead
much longer than you’ll
ever be alive.

Not my tempo

I have never danced with the devil.
We have, however, chatted amiably
around the punchbowl a time or two