telling

i sometimes look over the edge  
as far as i can,  
and i look at the cars.  

sometimes there are no cars.  
only the traffic lights  
calmly from green to red  
blink  
slow like a cat in the sun  
the whole thing like a north korean ghost town:  i can imagine
a lone traffic signaller with a lobotomised smile  
directing the air currents  

and i see myself falling gracefully,  
making a fashion shoot out of a rouched limousine  
making everybody love me  
a million camera flashes and the back of my head smashed in fifty pieces-  
 
but that's not how telling the truth goes.  
 
i am out in the woods and i am telling a story.  
 
in this story  
i take a step back,  
a deep breath  
and i do not lose balance.  
 
i am sorry you won't get your picture.