Get to the Other Side

I could have kept going.
But there were other cycles
in the sequence. And my strength
has always been invested
in the perpetual alarm of
crosseyed nosehairs, some
irrepressible, and some just
ready to be trimmed. If you let
them grow, before you know it
you’d be overrun with temptations
accounting for the harsh sound
of obsolete vinyl, and the birth
pangs of skateboard existentialists.
They said if you have to choose
to cross the street, it’s already too late.
There was something I wanted to mistake,
but that’s no deliberate anachronism,
more like the feeling you get when
you realize that everything is made of holes
and we can’t even get acquainted with them.