Kind of Man

I am the kind of man who keeps his eyes closed
for days, walks into things, falls into holes,
touches people he knows and loves’ faces. I once
held a bat in my fist, the one to come screaming
out of a tunnel. There’s only one that lights the
way, so to speak, for the others. That bat that
lights bit me, and now I am a bat. I am a man,
but I am also a bat. It’s nothing like what you’re
thinking. Spare me the joke. Besides, the days of
tunneling through the blacknesses of a life are
behind me. These days, I do things right. I count
the potatoes, I get in line for a good haircut. The
kind of life one lives in a house. The kind of
house that fits perfectly around its key. Just not
this key.