In Two Days

In two days,
my father will die again,

he does it
every year:

one week
after we set the clocks
when it begins to get dark and cold;
six days
before I get older –

I look over the wall of suicide
like a psychic crust
and try to find a way
to scramble around –

we are all going to die,
I know,
it doesn’t
makes much sense,

never a chance,
I run up to the building
swimming the desperate air

never a chance,
the razor
wins out,
slashing and slashing and slashing,

never a chance,
I am still
impossibly sad.