I go off sometimes;
Not enough people to talk to
so when I begin to write,
I just write and write and
I go off sometimes.
Like…
I’ll be writing about why
when I am in an intoxicated state of mind
I can see things moving
rings of light and energy;
I can feel vibrations.
But in getting that thought down on paper,
I will take a moment to think
stare into space
and notice how fast the clouds are moving across the sky and about
how there are multiple layers of clouds moving at multiple speeds
all different shades
and that where there are none, there is the most beautiful
blue sky
just patiently waiting to be seen.
I think, then, about how these clouds are
necessary,
how it is necessary for perfections to be darkened or covered
occasionally
as are the problems in my life…
which makes me think of
the problems of my life;
then I think not to think to wallow,
but to humble myself, yet again, into remembering
that my worries are worth being grateful for:
Autumn allergies.
Planters faciitus.
A retired dancer’s body.
Single.
Drifting.
Then I stop that thought to stare for a few more moments
but I cannot think of anything else that is wrong
with my life right now.
My mind then switches
begins to fill with yearning;
I have wanted to have the courage for some time now
to be proud of my life
and proud of what I have accomplished…
…
At that point
I run out of room on the page
flip to a new one
and I start sneezing…
achoo
which
at this time of year
always leads to more sneezing…
achoo
achoo
and now I need a tissue
which
only leads to more sneezing…
achoo
which
forces me to end the poem.
But
before I do so
I think about how imperfect a poem it is
that I have written
wonder if it even is a poem
until I remember the gratuity I thought a few thoughts ago
…grateful that at least I am creating something.
af
(written with pen on paper)
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