A dog in the manger of mercies

Sunday evening is dissolving
into night
I have a beer in my hand
and Jacques Brel on my stereo
as I hear you call
it's nice of you to call
- no, I swear, it really is -
you ask me how I’m doing
and I can’t tell you
for sure

I guess I could tell you
about the man at the door
and his shadow
that looms over sleepless nights
even though I can’t
see him
and about this
endless
ugly
nameless fever
and the sickly yellow days
it has been spawning
and I could go on about
wanderlust
and trains and planes and cars
about sunsets
and moss-covered stone walls
about the different shapes of love
and its shortcomings

and how I’m subscribing
to my own mythology

I guess I could tell you this and much more
but I say I’m doing fine
and goodbye
trying to forget your silence
wondering if you’re not hurt by mine

You see
I do have Brel on my stereo
and a beer in my hand
so I guess I’m doing fine

Into starlight.