am i a character in a book?

Last night, spaced out and feeling blank,
the notion seized me: I am a character in a book,
on a page, forever waiting for the Author
to put words in my mouth,
ideas in my head,
set me in motion and put me on a path
to action, overcoming obstacles, then
stumbling into pitfalls and down blind alleys,
who knows what might happen next?
I have lots of close calls, but, somehow,
I always manage to pull through,
until the next calamity, when I find myself
in danger, facing death, upping the ante
because it's no fun unless I've got everything to lose...
on the page, that is, because out here
I'm the pathetic anti-hero of my own life story in a real world of
tears & sighs & nightmares,
where I lost it all, and more, 9 years ago,
as the whole damn menagerie zodiac
sweeps through this maniac-depresso circle,
time enough to dive deep
blue dream sea – poison bubbles – black abyss
but a blessing: I can feel, again, something.

I call on Bear to defend me from my own thoughts
by Morris Armstrong Jr. proudly a.k.a. "Little Mo"
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