Dead Man's Hand

I’m done
But it takes so long
For the soul to separate
From the body.

I’m done
But it takes so long
For the tongue to realize
And be still.

Never was I one of the glad ones,
The happy-go-lucky, trusting in life,
Willing to be taken for a ride.

Mine are the doubting spider’s eyes,
Staring down the barrel of despair,
To catch its silver bullet between my teeth.

What is time and why does it want to kill me?
What is this godhood so inscrutable and malign?

Here to tell lies and make up stories,
Here to live and think and die,
Here to scheme and plot revenge against my enemies,
Here to scratch my arse and pick my nose,
Here to be here.

Too sensitive, too selfish,
I cringe at life’s slimy innards,
Terrified by everything,
Biting my soul down to the quick.

Happiness?
Is that all you think about?
Take what you want and pay for it,
As the Spanish say.

Here to orchestrate and conduct the celestial choir,
Here to pull tricks and attempt stunts,
Here to discriminate between phenomena,
Here to kick stones around on the beach.