I have to pull in my ambitions; my vision,

chased across canvas

with color and line, that

firmness I wish

for my weak body,

[movies]

[socializing]

[travel]

that girl at my fire, the one

with bare legs

who touches me.

What do I do with all these ambitions?

Blow them out like a gale, all around?

Breath in, let them fill me,

Exhale and release them,

Crows and doves all mixed together?

Maybe then I can finish the things I’ve started.

I can go around with a net

And recapture the ambitions

That I know are worth feeding.

Those left will fly far away,

Or twitch and die,

And rot on the ground,

Their smell dogging me until the grass finally swallows them.