It was inevitable that Harry would change
or perhaps he was changing
and didn’t know it
there was this constant tension, between himself and other people
and he didn’t believe in tension
so, he wondered where it came from
they wanted things, and they got them
It seemed to Harry, that people wanted the perfect life
like they were collecting show pieces for their doll houses
and there was this tremendous anxiety
that not every piece
would be in its perfect position.
People could say, and did say
Harry was down and out
but they still envied him—and why was that?
Does it take guts to take the glory? Harry didn’t care about the glory
In fact, he didn’t care about much of anything
but he wasn’t a loser—no, he didn’t see himself that way
He just knew, that so many things, weren’t good for a guy
Mostly, he spent his time at the library reading—not so that he could show-off his knowledge—
the rewards were just not good enough—he was already drawing envious looks
they were like sketches in his mind, that he wanted to erase.
At the gym, the girls giggled when he pumped iron
and the guys gave him looks that could kill
but these were the same men, who defiled purity, the first chance they could get
nothing was sacred to them
and they couldn’t tell value from the other things
they didn’t realize, that everything they were doing, they were doing to themselves
even their thoughts were working against them
Harry knew that many of his habits wouldn’t yield success, but he didn’t care
he had this habit of staring into space, or spending hours, if not days, by himself
lost in his own thoughts
He was ambitious, but in a different sort of way
so much so
that half the time, he didn’t realize it
If cats could talk
Harry was an Egyptian
staring at his shadow in the fire, contemplating the ashes
And still,
something deep inside of him said, “You are going to have it all.”
Harry didn’t know what that meant
but as he grew older, he learned to accept whatever came his way
When he played golf, he didn’t do it to be the best
there was something strange about his swing—it was like a lightning rod, flashing in the sun
flowing into the wind
and Harry also invested his money—not because he wanted to get rich, but because there was nothing else to do with it
the frustrations of the people at work mounted like an angry volcano
and Harry floated above it, in his imagination
He composed poetry
One day, he lost his job—and the person telling him had such a sick smile on her sad face
She was physically unwell, due to the spring of spiritual problems welling up inside her
Harry had long since stopped trying to save other people
He took his severance, and did the only thing he knew how to do
and that was to think about it.
This story has a better ending, but Harry hasn’t reached it yet
His own thoughts echo, like god’s voice
and he listens to them
He cannot believe in anything else—to do so, would mean to lose his mind
it has harnessed the wind, for such a long time
empty sails and motor boats are for the insane masses of society
racing towards their deaths, to take first prize
Harry isn’t running this race
but he
will win—whatever that means…