On Being (I) by Tyler Wettig

You recovered from those formative
and dumb years: now here’s to many more.
Your soul that rends and mends all grassroots and
punk gives you nary a dull moment, except

when you feel dead; but sweet hubris might say
it’s all in your head. Now count the few ways you
love yourself: sports, poems, and sex. Only two
can actually kill you, so relax: you

concern yourself so much with death that birth
means less and less. Remember: dad saw ghosts,
your mom’s, and told you he felt blessed. When
you meet your other brother, maker, or

see the damned wraiths yourself, own up: you’ve

probably relapsed. Or just regressed.


Tyler Wettig resides in Michigan. His latest chapbook is The Adult Table (Zetataurus, 2018). Tyler's website: https://www.tylerwettig.wordpress.com.


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