UPHEAVAL
Everything's been packed up and put away;
they've lined the street with rubber mallets -
everyone second guessing themselves. I stand
aside a moment, thinking of what to do. My
ideas of place and time no longer match this
presence. I am lost, but was I meant to cavort
as well? Cartwheels and pinwheels, the things
of boys and girls. Adjacent to this, within my
own confusion, are the doubts that come with
such a sense of self : a box of Cheerios that
someone has left on the landing. A place of
comfort, that too? I see that children must eat
them as snacks as they ramble - little round
O's clutter the steps. Through the foggy glow
of glass, the dirt and grime of smudge prevail.
-
I walk away thinking where I've been : this 17th
street loftway that leads to art and sex and reading.
Paradise has a label, and here it adheres. Leave
me alone, please all that be. Stop your talking
and jumping around. Find the silence and sit.
I am, after all, only twenty years old.
-
Up here, there is a strange book left open
to something : it reads 'You have to stand back
from everything and not be involved. All the values
you think you see of things, they are not there -
those values (even your very own), are false and
inconsequential; man-attached and man-made.
Why? Because you are not really here at all.'
No comments:
Post a Comment