Sunday, June 14, 2015

6775. WHEN THE BLISTER-HOME HAPPENS

WHEN THE BLISTER-HOME HAPPENS
I tell myself I am awake and conscious, but sometimes
I'm not so sure : things seem to move between blinks, and
the world is never the same  -  instant by instant. How is
one to react to that? Blinding snowstorm or a blinding sun.
-
I sit here relived of all audacity; mute and lame, like some
olympic Helen Keller just wanting to break out. I know what
I mean, I know what I want. Words are all that's lost.
-
Up above, a single gray dirigible passes  -  its silence
scares me, its passage through air deliberate and strong.
Yet it seems so weak and so sneaky as well. What's to be
done about all that? I can only look up, I guess, not down,
to keep a'watch of what's above.

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