This is the worst time;
a bunch of keys, a pile of coins,
and night is heavy with a silence
that encrusts me.
Can I make a claim to pain?
Or is this open wound (that
I can scarcely feel) a source
of comfort only?
Not even failure -
unless the fear of trying counts as
failure to succeed. I'll never reach
a goal I turn away from;
I'll never find a stronger sense
of pain until I take my courage,
wad it in a ball, and
throw it at a target I'm not sure
I want to hit.