Wednesday afternoon poetry- I find that this comes back in shy, tiny spells at first- me swearing to some degree of truth that I can do anything- truth laughing in my face offering a spot in next week’s tournament- the Dalai Lama speaks on a TV bigger than I’m used to and my behavior is almost a slap in both our faces- I’ve got the volume set where his voice can be heard, but not necessarily what it’s trying to convey- I have to have something playing in the background, see, while I’m staring down my weakness in the foreground- things I’ve said make this shrill noise in the midground- hes still going on about something, on the big screen- instructing his audience to achieve peace, I’m sure, and I don’t even hear it- I’m still somewhere else- I’m still becoming the times and the places I know nothing about- I am the Ice Age. I am Chernobyl. I am Hiroshima. I am guilty by absolutely no association, truth be told- what I feel I feel in solitary- what I preach is common knowledge- what I practice, detrimental, but it’s what’s there, it’s what has stuck- it’s what you want me to say but don’t, as you ask how I’m feeling- the truth is, I’m not- I’m more inclined to tell you all is well, to clear the air of the best answer- I’d rather say nothing I’d rather stay in myself I’d rather stay a machine hard at work on the functionality part of all this- but ultimately, still a machine -Jas / 2014
Posted on: Wed, 29 Jan 2014 21:31:00 +0000
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