Jump off the bridge

I pray for signs. Knock twice for stay. Three times for go.

In the alley of my psyche I’m a whore for synchronicity.
I’ll kiss anything that will pay me a clue about what to do.

Trumpet.

Oh Angel of Resplendent Certainty find me in this night
and give me a dream so real that it pushes The Knowing
up to my skin.

Either give me a crown
or, just make me a soldier of the day to day
because
being an artist is making me bleed.

Jump off the bridge.

That’s what all The Signs say.

I don’t understand this answer until I remember the question –
the one that has me on my knees:

Am I really the bridge?