Pittsfield aria to myself on a Saturday afternoon

along North Street cascading light its vestiges fading eagle head of my cane poised against the mailbox eagle The Eagle a building posing opiod optics no one seen no one heard vacant lot the tottering totem swaying was that a needle in her hand a long train a-comin' a tall train a-goin' I went down to the station walked The Common the old high school how about that gazebo mother father child reunion flag-draped baby Lake Pond Silver streets Bank Row alley in the shadow Crawford Square the Marketplace wear your mask I'm masked and anonymous why aren't you where was Melville when he wrote Moby Dick here Lolita by the pool her back to me unknown unbeknownst to one and all hibiscus hideaway the tenement testament still standing for all to see beware of the dog private property keep out or is it keep in I can't tell anymore can you

what's your story

so, how did it end?
how did what end?
how did the story end?
I don't know
what do you mean, you don't know?
the story's not over
what?
like I said, the story's not over
it's still being written
in a manner of speaking, yes
for that matter it's never over
you could say that
for every story
who's writing it?
or editing it
but really stop messing with me
I'm not messing with you
everybody wants to know how it ends
we all want that
closure
finality
clarity
tidy, wrapped up
you know how the story ends but you're not telling me
no, I really don't know, I'm not lying
can't you make something up?
of course I could 
so go ahead
that's phony
why
the story writes itself
here we go again
let it ride
live the question
Rilke
the mystery
wabi-sabi
imperfect
unfinished
not lasting
that?
something like that
more or less
there's your story

breakup epistle

Dear Self,

This is it. I've had it. We are breaking up. No, that does not mean I am descending to a new or amplified brand of mental illness. Besides, I get confused: Do split personalities have too many selves or not enough of one self? No matter. Doesn't matter. We're not here to argue or debate. There I go again. We. What's with the "we," right? We? Who is we? Who is I? Who is you?

Back to the breakup.

I don't want to be that person anymore. I've grown tired of him. I've reached a point of autonomic fatigue. Anomie without anime.

Don't be so facile or quick to label this depression. Don't be so quick to label it anything.

When did our relationship start to sour?

Hard to say. 

How about pee running down my legs in the gym in kindergarten on the first day of school? No one chided me, not that I recall. I can't remember if they gave me dry clothes. The urine was hot and cinnamonny as it streamed down my left leg, along part of my rear, and onto the shiny waxed wood floors. The gym smelled of lacquer, at least until my contribution.

I was ashamed.

I still wish I hadn't done that.

Not until, what, fifty years later did I discover physical reasons for this voiding.

A voidance. Avoidance.

But that's hardly a reason to break up, you say. And you're right! It's bogus, completely fabricated. Arbitary.

I needed an excuse.

I know, I know, it all seems so rash, if not irrational.

You say, you didn't know, you couldn't tell. Isn't that what they always say about the breakup? "I had no idea. No one told me. If only I had known." Those are the standard lines. I suppose it's more than a little true. I mean, even I didn't see us breaking up.

No worries.

This is officially an amicable divorce. No shit. It really is. What reason would I have for being inamicable?

Oh. The obvious question. What new self am I hooking up with? Who's the lucky rebound self?

Can't answer that.

Come what may.

Que sera sera.

More shall be revealed.

I shall be released.

Sayonara, you ol' selfie.

Anchors aweigh.

Sincerely,

Moi

the static

like, you know; turn the dials on the Hallicrafters short-wave radio like safecrackers; dive bombers; know what I'm sayin; shrill metallic blast; gurgling high-pitched twirling; ya know; crackling hum; intergalactic buzzsaw; in my opinion; galvanic thrumming; Radio Moscow; I know, right; shockwave echoing; lol; electronic pulsating stammering; shrill feedback; ear-splitting waterfallish avalanche; Vatican Radio; yeah, no; tin stuttering; galloping burping; infinite clanging; Radio Nederland Hilversum; LOL; yeah, no, I know, right; BBC World Service; wave-rippling cool giggling trickle; broken-muffler mauling; know what I mean; sandy sandpaperish sifting; harsh endless high-volume whispering; like; right