by Sozan Schellin



sometimes I wonder what's going to become of me
wasting away from a lack of appetite
aging, bald headed
losing my sight
friendless from bitching about everything gone haywire
turning crusty and dry
forgotten by kids overcome with libido and the future
bored with an old man, bored with himself

if I fell off, it would take years before anyone noticed
the thread-bare spot where I used to be a person
holding a position, white shirts
duties starched at the neck
crisp ideas with direction and momentum

I wonder if I would float away like wood
or sink to the bottom right here as a waterlogged, rotting leaf good for my chemical contribution
to what's coming next

sighted people talk of stars and read their maps by moonlight never mind what I felt when it was my turn
to run through and make impressions;
did anyone know how much I loved
or where I planted bulbs?
am I mistaken
or has the night already come with crickets and dew?


"Night" first appeared in the Spring 2002 issue of Van Gogh's Ear
and is reprinted here by permission. © 2002 Van Gogh's Ear.


Sozan Schellin writes prose as well as poetry.


BENT: A Journal of CripGay Voices/May 2002