(with apologies to Galen Strawson)
Bruce on Broadway, born to run and run,
the burr of Everyman whose tales of bars and father
constitute the story of a life well done.
So why does life for me instead feel like a murky mess,
disjointed, pointless, scattered, inconclusive,
never like the lives in songs and films?
For only there is our existence tragic, glorious
or merely meaningful; only there is life a valiant lie
delivered by a righteous standup guy.