Excuses made to wives, lovers, supervisors, friends let down
Dreams engineered for the safest possible outcome
I am more than a golem that shambles away from excuses
I base all my actions on other things happening first
Remember the holiday that sparked the renewal
When they chased out the tacticians and burned down their houses
You can't be everywhere
Only on time at the start of a series of seemingly random events
One falling into another like a Rube Goldberg contraption
If I fell out of step and fell back on the telling of stories
And stories are a condition not just for when something is done
But also for when it's not done
Not completed and/or not even tried
Confrontations are sad and easily escaped from
Every alleyway leads to a courtyard where they hand out towels and pity
That pity only calcifies over time
You become afflicted with the barnacles of the staid, complacent herd
Did I ever tell you of what I was physically unable to do
Leading the witness to presume that physical disability is the same as just not doing
That other type of inaction be it through attitude or fear or apathy
Not like the fellow who ages with the sun
He goes about not accosted by any demands for justification of self
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem