Forty times you may question your life
fortified with a hunting knife.
Before you find out if you survive
questioning marks have turned into scars.
For the record you remember the few
who for a second time you bid adieu.
Forty days in the neon haze
festering dreams are dressed in vagaries.
You follow the skyway
You follow your right-of-way
You follow the streets and the cars
And the shadows and the stars.
Forty lessons you may hear from the sun
you never listened to a single one.
Falling leaves whisper like thieves
not that you mind you live on stolen time.
Fists loaded with a furious disdain
your ferocity will be your shame.
Fast motion like a curious flame
the best I can do is to turn my back on you.