My photo
There is a space between what we say and what we think, and that gap is never fully realized. But we can continue to try to connect the points, and eventually maybe we can get somewhere.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Nuckle Blisters

My life wrapped up in pink tissue
or recycled brown paper.
Tied up with a thin silk bow.
A bouquet of lowers picked out just for me,
no dozen roses.
An ear that hears and recalls,
analogues, records, and reflects
and then responds.
The giving, receiving, sharing.
Would you call that a balancing act?
Or would you just call that care?

I'm used to disappearances.
At some point it always happens.
I've never attempted the trick,
or maybe I have and I just don't know the difference.

Something to hold and something to have.
Gifts are given never to be returned,
never with any Expectation.
But I'm beginning to fear them.
I think myself so coy,
such a charmer...
and then they disappear.
With what I've given them.

People are too predicable this way.
No matter how much you tell them,
share with them, try to offer them,
They will always have selective hearing.
They will always take what they want
and disappear.
And sometimes it feels like they gave nothing in return.

50/50 on the chopping block, on the cutting table, on the countdown. What you say and what you do and what you expect all come back at you. Sometimes with a big punch in the face, and sometimes with a nod to your reflection... simply spouting my feelings, vomiting without control, is my avoidance of focus and concentration. It's so easy to snap pictures out of focus, and to try to resharpen them in the future (technology very easily allows for this) but how valuable do memories become when you have to try to piece them together after they've already passed.

It's a restless sleep, if there is sleep at all.

No comments:

Post a Comment