Some poets are defined by their tragedies.
Others simply carry on in spite of them.
As if the bitter details cut too harshly
against their docile image to become lore,
I am unburdened by expectations of coolness or relevance,
and my initial too-cool-for-school demeanor
disguises some undeniable riffs,
the poetry's signature heartworms,
despite decades of exposure,
hopefully never seem to burn out.