Stir words in a hat,
dip in a hand, pull out a cat.
Seriously though, you probably wonder why I'm here.
Not there with you. I know... I miss you terribly...
We used to ride the wind, night after sleepless night,
out to the edge and back. Disciplined. Searching for a departure gate,
our own exit through the gift shop. We'd collect on old investments,
settle into a comfortable rut, stop growing. Growing's for trees, we'd say.
Overrated at any rate. See what I mean. Hard to ebb and flow when you've hardly set
a tooth in edgewise. Or should that be and? Biting down seems to be the topic
of unconscious choice. But on what and why? Whenever I think I've come up with answers,
they switch questions on me, stretch out their meanings. Back to words again.
And they... Who are these unknowable others? These faceless ones? Blank ovals
that carry my projections. Will I ever be done with them? Would I exist without them
to mirror me back to myself? There I go asking unanswerable questions again.
I never seem to learn. Who gets credit for that, I wonder?
I'm sure anyone reading this thinks I've lost my marbles. Perhaps
there's an element of truth to that. Or maybe I never had them in the first place.
Some of us are born without. Some of us come tabula rasa,
oval slates polished to a high sheen, volcanic obsidian.
See what I mean?
Couldn't help it if I tried.
Cat in the hat
and all that.
YOU ARE READING
Express, baggage and all...
PoetryObjects in the mirror are closer than they appear... Just when you think you've put something behind you for good, you look back and find it trails you like your very own comet's tail, lighting a path through the dark. Reading through these pages...
