51: GROWTH EDGE

I send out tentative shoots

that are doomed to fail

like the cherry tree we planted last spring

mowed down by fall

I say it wrong

wear it crooked

glasses askew

old and farty

at least a decade behind every trend

I embarrass myself

before youngsters half my age

I don’t tweet

or snapchat

or whatever the fuck is the latest app

I am more than halfway

through this fragile burst of a life

not even middle aged

but hurtling headlong to elderhood

at an age when I should be securing my nest egg

tenured and well-insured

at the top of my game

I rub it all out and start from scratch

I save nothing and press restart

I slash and burn

and cut down the safety net

spiral closer to the sun

to get burned each time

the moment of mastery

is the call to deconstruct

comfort is the signal

to stretch for the growth edge

I fly to the other side of the world

to sleep on the floor

in another language

I find ever new ways

to mortify myself

I move myself to detroit

to breathe incinerated air

and wake to watchdogs barking on cold nights

I move my ass every 6 months or so

each time shedding another layer of accumulation

who knew it would all be so useless?

all that learning?

all those books?

what are you trying to prove?

says my incredulous ex

what drives you

toward extreme vulnerability?

ask same-age friends

from the safety of their long-time homes

so many incarnations in this single lifetime

I quake and glow in the glory of my foolishness