There was the day we swam in a river, a lake, and an ocean.
And the day I quit the job my father got me.
And the day I stood outside a door,
and listened to my girlfriend making love
to someone obviously not me, inside,
and I felt strange because I didn’ t care.
There was the morning I was born,
and the year I was a loser,
and the night I was the winner of the prize
for which the audience applauded.
Then there was someone else I met,
whose face and voice I can’ t forget,
and the memory of her
is like a jail I’ m trapped inside,
or maybe she is something I just use
to hold my real life at a distance.
Happiness, Joe says, is a wild red flower
plucked from a river of lava
and held aloft on a tightrope
strung between two scrawny trees
above a canyon
in a manic-depressive windstorm.
Don’ t drop it, Don’ t drop it, Don’ t drop it — ,
And when you do, you will keep looking for it
everywhere, for years,
while right behind you,
the footprints you are leaving
will look like notes
of a crazy song.