Drawing circles in chalk on the sidewalk,
I grow up as a master of subterfuge, 
 
well-versed in the art of saying what I want 
while saying nothing at all. 
 
Everything I leave behind shall remain
washed away by the morning rain.
 
Draped in a mist of plausible deniability, 
I am saved from all of life's little terrors.
 
Lesson number one: you will never have 
to defend a belief if you never commit.
 
With the chessboard emptied, the pieces
burnt as kindling, any game can end the same.
 
Imagine a time when men could play football
between the trenches in the first World War.
 
Imagine, then, the gunfire after, the quiet 
death of a bleeding son. Each morning, 
 
I wake only to wipe the slate clean. 
Invention, reinvention, intervention.
 
When I die, I imagine I will leave this earth 
as a beetle taking flight into the night.
 
Crawling out of my mouth, I shall glow,
for reasons beyond my understanding.
 
Dissect me. My familiar corpse is full 
of metaphors we don't understand.
 
In this undeath I am opening doors to 
other doors. My life's goal is to leave 
 
an indelible outline on the sidewalk.
I have begun drawing the unbreakable line.