Thursday, May 31, 2012

Fear of falling

It used to be suicide was a private affair
a lone moment
my mother had in a carroll street kitchen
a bottle of pills in one hand
a glass of water in the other,
she looking down at me
playing with my toy air plane
on the scratched tile floor
Or my uncle who used to 
take his weekly walk to
the Wall Street Bridge
where he deliberated his next move
to plunge into the deepest
part of the river
or even rock groupies seated 
in my car after too much cocaine
aching over the guitarist
or drummer who hadn't
taken them to the motel
having found pills to mix 
with booze they hoped
might let them forget
these days we stage the event
take a photo days ahead
then issue a press release 
that a dramatic moment
might be hand for the right person
at the right time
and don't forget to bring 
your popcorn
no one to blame
no one to take credit
just pure drama
the private moment locked
in the victim's own imagination
never actually experienced
always at the edge 
always living with the real
fear of falling

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