Brass Skin

The woman next to me at the bar

just hollered, “WALKER!”

in my direction.

Shrill and piercing

like a golf ball flying into a mailbox

clangclangclangclangclang.

I don’t blame her—

she’s drunk on a Friday afternoon

and eating peanuts.

Here are the feelings today:

gratitude,

doubt,

excitement,

ambivalence, and

fear.

That last one’s always there.

Well, almost always.

There are times

after a run,

in the morning looking at the mountains,

I think about everything that might happen,

everything that’s inevitable, and

it’s all okay.

Old age, homelessness, shitty jobs, fuck-ups,

horrible diseases I say thanks every day I don’t have

yet, death, yes

all okay.

That feeling never lasts more than an hour though

'cause next comes giddiness that maybe

I’ve left all my troubles and worries behind

once and for all, and that’s

always pursued by a feeling

of manic anxiety.

Then suddenly

I’m back in my own skin,

my mind the hammer

of a church bell

at noon.

clang…

clang…

clang…

clang…

clang…