My Coat of Many Colors

"I look handsome, I look smart, I am a walking work of art."

At the beginning of the book I lamented,
I have wasted the most glorious years of my life.
Dramatic idiocy and clueless counting of my days,
I had many dazzling gifts.
Now I drape my coat of many colors
around my intimate shoulders,
ready for the great work to emerge from the haze,
having seen the river at a time that truly matters.

Each poem is a person
and each person is a poem.
I cannot figure out how something so simple
has escaped me so long.
I would have probably worried less.

To realize that nothing is finished,
that anything can fluctuate
between being a beautiful mess
and a pool of words with no meaning.
I build encouragement out of loose parts.

I weigh immortality with my own scale.
I build the public road as I go.