Days Keep Counting Down

these days of weighted dreams
hanging onto my psyche
pulling me down from those lofty places
I used to hold tightly
the pitter-patter stories
we, as boys, promised ourselves
we would follow
all those paths from hand-holding
to kisses at altars
and all the mishmash afterward
we boys dreams like little girls do
but hold them much more secret
and share them only with stuffed animals
spill them later on the teenage pages
as dreams ferment in our bellies into the angst
that drives us to wars and booze
as our hairs begin to gray

those boy's dreams wage war
with the boy I have become
whose lovers are few and far between
measuring the distances
with drunken nights, the newest novels
more poems than needed
road trips, porno pages and borrowed CDs

we make excuses about the ones we left
the one we're waiting for
if only time would hurry us there
and moments of the brain-blinding joy
when we think with butterflies
is this it, is this her?

but time keeps clicking
the scope of rifle zeroing in on moving targets
waiting for the round that will hit us
before we hear it

and our bank accounts fill and empty
the calendars fall from the walls
and the numbers keep adding up
while days keep counting down