Archive for February, 2012
The Bubbles Are Mine
It’s not chaos.
Pure, boiling shrimp,
right at the lid of my head.
The hippo kicks wildly at my innards.
I need help.
Lock me up and let me cry,
my plea, but I’m stuck,
trying to be perfect
rather than admit failure.
And allowing the boiling shrimp
to eat at the roots of my soul,
and I drift through the chaos,
wearing old pants,
feeling dead,
but not good enough
to be dead.
Willingness – Part IV
There is sudden deflation.
I am not self-pity.
Empty regret
that I’m not getting
what I want.
Empty when not definable.
Sit and chew on emotions
Slowly, thirty times per bite.
Laugh at the trifles
that seem to derail me.
There are competing interests.
Mine aren’t a big deal.
Willingness – Part III
Why is Santa waving at me?
Don’t let them fool you;
It never gets better.
It gets different.
The Permanent Duty of the Kansas Grass
At once, there is a single straw.
Maybe a clump, powerfully brittle,
pale-yellow grass, tall and massacred
by wind. It survives, loneliness palpable,
most alone while the sun slaughters
mercilessly, and the haggard grass stands,
as if forever, never to get help,
never to give solace, only to stand,
so miserably
by itself
through endless seasons,
standing
as terse lesson,
the emptiness
our world,
alone.
Monday in the Leather Hallway Chair
When I freeze, I breathe.
There are loving black shoes,
and they kick at my gut, warmly.
When I warm, I watch for grace,
but what am I expecting from so low?
There is a smooth movement.
I know I would never freeze again,
but I know I’ve been dreaming again.
stillfugue 