The mind, up there lurking
behind my eyes, pushing them
to see things only one way, 

begins the exercise, the small
torture of thinking only
of how I wish to see
Spring again, one more time.

One more time: a perfect, sweat soaked, 
last word on the night encore from
a band playing at their peak.
One more time: a run on my own guitar
that opens my eyes to possibility.
One more time: the kiss that leads
to nothing more than another.
One more time: a smile at
a news story, a bit of faith in anything,
a good thought about something that 
has to be done, that only I can do,
that will be done.

The mind, up there lurking
in my tender skull, pounding from within
against the outer shell, the one I show 
all of you, deforming me
into a lumpen mask
of no hope 
as I think
and think
and think.

It’s ok, says the mind
to me, persisting in pushing
the thought upon me

that I would have liked
to enjoy something,
anything,
just one more time,

but no.