Chewing On The Bone (Poetry)

I don’t know why I’m here today
anymore than I knew
as much as
sixty-five fast-fading years ago

I don’t know when
I started all this questioning
and those who think they know
why they exist
and have expounded the theory
made it into some
unsubstantiated list
I gave up listening to them — Oh
so long, so very long ago

I guess it’s down to me to work it out —
the reason why I was born
what am I for?
I need to find some meaning
in the night
some point to each new dawn

Is there any sense to sense? —
bring logic into play
and thought disappears
in smoke and words
philosophers change names and minds
but still day follows day

I mix a cake called poetry
I claim it as my own
there’s sugar inbetween some lines
and death adds bitterness —
a certain je ne sais quoi
from cooking time
alone

I’ve tasted life and pulled apart
the old unfaithfulness
and that autopsy’s on the table
there’s intestines
strung out red and raw
one kidney’s pinned against the wall
my heart’s been kicked around
this grubby floor

yet
    I’ve found no clue to why
I’m living ...
I’m like a crazed cup
with a dirty ring
that measures how ambition
ended up

unfulfilled
and subject to
this nagging worry —
I haven’t even begun
to do whatever
destiny intends —
so I ask again
in hope some kind of answer comes
before senility unravels the past
and chews the bone
both ends