“Defined”

I only consider myself
an artist as much as
the candid holy man
considers himself saved.

There is always more to prove
and even when it all gets done,
it rarely seems enough.

So, no.
He is not going to heaven;
And I am not going to New York.
We will probably both linger
somewhere on the outskirts.
And that is fine by us both.

We have both accepted our fates
for a very long time now.
I am sorry if this resolve
causes problems for you.

narrative poem written on 09-18-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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