All The Ways

too many options may kill a man ~ Damien Rice


I knew it then, too. That’s why my mother
never cluttered our walls with portraits.
She allowed me one picture, mounted above

my bed: a horse missing a rider, his brown coat
so measured I knew it had never seen the whip
of wind and his perfect mouth had never tasted

carrots. I framed him gold and left him there
even after I stepped off. And I know it now--
all the ways to remove yourself. My doctor says

keep trying but she doesn't know which way.
One day, these pills will stick so I rename
my symptoms: Last week, I chased my lover

threatening to set my hair on fire. Yesterday,
God left me knee-bent at the side of my bed.
Today, I redress my walls—

Hopper suited in all blue, his mistress at the window
waiting; Degas and his thousand mad ballerinas,
unleashed; some unknown, numbered, breasts

revealed and muddied. I never said
I didn’t want them.