Perhaps I’ll place these eyes in pockets and ears in silent boxes.
Perhaps I’ll pin this tongue to ground and put an end to all its wagging.
Perhaps I’ll scatter teeth in fields, to be found by lonesome farmer.
Perhaps I’ll shave this head again and make a wig for father time.
Perhaps I’ll steal another breath, just to repent as I exhale.
Perhaps I’ll break these hands once more, so I will not have to shake yours.
Perhaps I’ll nurse these hands to health, then shake yours till I break them.
Perhaps I’ll weep ten thousand tears and sleep on sodden pillows.
Perhaps I’ll march to death and smile, as he pays me all my severance.
Perhaps I’ll lose my feet as I retrace the steps I’ve taken.
Perhaps I’ll win the game of life but celebrate alone.
Perhaps I’ll set this house ablaze and warm myself awhile.
Perhaps I’ll drink my thoughts away, so you can call me friend.
Perhaps I’ll starve this mind and laugh, as it starts to eat itself.
Perhaps I’ll write some words and wonder why I write at all.
