What makes people do the things they do? If you have ever paused to consider the chain of events that lead people to the places in which we encounter them–if you have ever wondered why people do crazy things that we cannot fathom–remember, at every step along their journey to that place, on many separate but continuous occasions something informed their decisions. Something always informs our decisions. Something informed every decision that led the alcoholic to drink. Something informed every decision that led the homeless man beneath a bridge. Something informed every decision that led to a man’s taking of his own life. Information. Informing. Inform.
LONELINESS
The life seeps from the body
of a man in black—dressed for death in winter.
Something informs this.
The end is soon near. The reluctance
is gone. This is peaceful. So much
more peaceful than he imagined
and he can see remnants of city lights
staining the skin of the water until
he is surrounded by blue—
until he is surrounded by swaths
of black, black, black…..
Something informs this.
The gasps and lips sink heavy beneath
the water. The terror—the night and river
fill his soul.
No one knows where he is tonight,
but there is peace in the sky.
He knows he is content to sink
if he can stare at the white crescent
tattooed against the blue.
Something informs this.
The way he falls is humorous.
He finally produces a smile he can dismiss.
His body steals away from everything
but paralysis when the concrete water
envelops him. He is stiff like a frozen
bandanna and he stares up at the stars
as they cloud over.
Something informs this.
He falls to the water that tries to ice over
each winter, from the bridge that tries to keep
people from falling. He doesn’t know how to fall
correctly.
Something informs this.
The brooding fellow clad in black walks
and shifts the trail of his thoughts from sundry to sundry.
His life is a carousel of images sheathed behind
foggy lenses that grow opaque and lonely.
Something informs this.
The man without the face is descending from
on high to something flat and understandable.
He is moving from the misunderstood to the relatable.
Something informs this.
He contemplates the center of the road.
He opts for silence instead. He will be
quiet for the world. He will exist apologetically
without tremor.
Something informs this.
The holiness is expunged and ashes cover
his footsteps. He is afraid of being recognized.
He pulls his coat tighter and prays for rain.
He wonders why he is praying. He no longer
believes in god.
Something informs this.
He presses through empty crowds.
He knifes through steam buffeting out
of grates from beneath the city.
He knows nothing of traffic signals.
Something informs this.
There is stumbling as he marvels at
the nothingness inhabiting anything
he can actually feel.
Something informs this.
His eyes have glazed and he walks out
of the bar that he knows best—the one
that he has gone to every night for seven
years—the one where nobody knows
his name—the one where he is faceless.
Something informs this.
He drinks the nth drink that
he can neither remember nor ascertain.
It never consoles or cajoles action.
It is company in a way when he
stares into the glass and sees
a reflection he once knew.
Something informs this.
He thinks to himself, the same
bar…. the same bar…. the same bar.
But if tonight someone speaks softly
to me I’ll try again tomorrow.
