Posts Tagged Willingness
The Day He Began to Change for Real
He parked his too-large automobile
in front of craft shops, wondering
who was watching him, who was judging
his journey, looking up slightly
at the seventy-three hundred
addresses, thinking about West and East,
thinking about which way was going
up so he could find the place. He knew
going in was a chore commanded of him
through a very brief moment of self-discipline
while knowing that this is the last place
he would ever want to go.
These people
are not the people
he would ever choose to be with.
The daily commute had been tortuous
for years. It had been part of his insanity
incubator, his car had become the prison
that had fostered the growth
of the most severe anger at the most
inconsequential things, not a violent anger,
but a fearful one, an anger that starts
with being born, an anger that starts
with his parents, but not an anger at them,
an anger at what they had given him,
all of those disgusting genetic defects.
.
Willingness – Part I
Jellybeans, jellybeans,
they jump and bounce,
hacking checkers on my skull,
yellow being the most annoying.
Do I know what it’s like
to live Bruce’s life?
Do I know he doesn’t
care, or am I wicked?
There are tiny moments
when my medicine works.
Tolerance doesn’t cover it.
Bruce needs to be welcomed,
just as I do,
but he rots my nerves.
My defects pile in
like a spinach car crash
in the fog while I cut
my nails and whistle
about purpose, which is lost
in the shed out back.
Ooh, Carl, don’t fight
the shitstorm, for you brung it,
all yellow and tarred,
gassing the mower.
Swim in it and drown.
Medicine eeks;
Life wasted.
Don’t sleep in the cold.
There must be a place for you.
Love yourself by not beating
your self.
Not one beating.
Today.
stillfugue 