IN THE BEGINNING

there is no reality where you are supposed to be here
on edge, at the edge 
tilting into a park bench 
dizzy
they all stare
wondering what you’re doing 

how is an impulse born?
does it hurt in the beginning?
like a baby? that starts on the inside 
and rolls out? or 
maybe that's a song? or a joke?
i think all you get is ten minutes 
a lousy amount of time to make a decision
but long enough for the world to blink
and long enough for you to miss it 

impulse is born in the future
after the thing happens
it travels back in time
swinging blindly
getting its fingers caught
in sliding windows
slipping in and out between cars in
rush hour traffic
hand-delivered 

walk yourself 
to the emergency room where
they sit you down
it’s not serious enough 
they tell you and deep down you agree
life would be easier if you only understood 
and part of you does understand
the part
your next girlfriend will smoke out from beneath you
as you wring the last teaspoon of moisture 
from your desert eyes
you remember the ants that would scuttle up 
your bedroom wall screaming 
find courage 

in the beginning
is where you are supposed to be