You can’t beat failure
each and every time
it comes for you or me—
but we can outlive it
most times; And hell,
if you can’t outlive it,
life probably
isn’t worth living, is it?

I’m thankful to outlive
this poem—
And probably the next
poem too,
but that one hasn’t been
written yet;
So who knows? Maybe
that one will outlive me,
etched in marble—
where one or two of you
will bring tulips
or pour out my favorite
bottle of red.
Better yet, hot coffee;
Blacker than my death;
So black, it wakes me up
and gives my skeleton
the runs.

Failure at its best
is a habit.
It grows into you
and takes your shape
like a worm
in a hand blown bottle
of tequila.
Failure is like that lover
you take to bed with you—
but never wake up with.
She is the dream—
Nothing less, nothing more,
and Nothing.

written on 03/16/2011 by: Matt Kane