A Dedicated Fool
It's 8:55 in the morning, and I'm listening to sad and beautiful songs. The lump organ in the middle of my chest has been engaged this weekend, and I must artificially feed it a little emotion today or die from withdrawal.
It may be better to shut down the devices completely. Previous systems of functioning were more than adequate. One cannot believe in -- or endure -- change.
And yet I feel inspired to fight. I must become a chocolate-covered golden ingot. I must sit cross-legged in my halo. I must make beautiful mosaics of my chromosomes.
I may never tell you, but I will tell nonetheless. Somewhere and somehow. You may not understand it, and you may not like it. The saying of a thing is a commitment to a reality I cannot feel. It is someone else's. You know that I live here half-asleep -- and my woken body moves in a far-off welkin.
(In that place of incandescent foods and electromagnetic instruments, my ankles have lost strength for floating inches above the seaside brome.)
It may be better to shut down the devices completely. Previous systems of functioning were more than adequate. One cannot believe in -- or endure -- change.
And yet I feel inspired to fight. I must become a chocolate-covered golden ingot. I must sit cross-legged in my halo. I must make beautiful mosaics of my chromosomes.
I may never tell you, but I will tell nonetheless. Somewhere and somehow. You may not understand it, and you may not like it. The saying of a thing is a commitment to a reality I cannot feel. It is someone else's. You know that I live here half-asleep -- and my woken body moves in a far-off welkin.
(In that place of incandescent foods and electromagnetic instruments, my ankles have lost strength for floating inches above the seaside brome.)
posted by Paul G. McCurdy at 10:12 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home