One Single Impression: Niche
We say it all the time--nitch or neesh
Depending on where the tracks
Run through our real estate.
It means place
It means nest.
But sometimes the notion
Invades our minds;
We say we were meant to be there.
I don't know about any of that.
I mean, actually
(Thought I thought I'd be polite)
That I think all of that--
Comfort, belonging, destiny--
Is total crap. I think we kid ourselves
With all this soft talk about a master plan
And a guy in the sky who can justify our every wrong move
With a bitterly wrought moral to our story
About how we somehow earn those kicks in the pants
Out of the plain and simple and magical truth
That a niche is only any good for anything
If we get the hell out of it
Like the first bird that ever had the idea
Of lifting off on its own steam
And nobody's down there taking notes
Giving some ghost the credit.
We make it happen.
We rise from small places
And, damn it,
One Single Impression