Written on the back of an ice cream truck, probably by a psychopath

I feel near death situations
are resolvable,with a little grit

I feel sorry for writing this
only now,but I find that

caution has plagued me; I am more
like a poet with absolutely

no idea of what safe imaginations are,
of things that are unearthly,and convenient

for that sort of thing, and I
feel sorry for myself,why not ??

feel wronged by the shape of my hands,
knowing that some of the best poems

could have been written on the back of them,
for what is a poem if not some mucilage

to stick your tongue to, and continuously
taste that terrible feeling

of relishing pain ,and its pleasure
at the same time;nuanced with

a presumable misfortune to come,
because really, if nothing can be written

about the ice cream truck ,like the world
gone ahead, you already hate getting to or

the world like the ice cream truck
honking in your intestinal voids

you may not consider this the impasse,
there is no turning back from