I'M NOT MECHANICAL YET
The choice is never too easy : sacred,
or profane, as Fulton J. Sheen once
said it. What a choice of two lives,
though we're only granted one. Yet,
yet, I can see another face through
the window, and it sure looks a lot
like me.
-
I wonder, is that a form of doublespeak?
Should it be 'as', instead of 'like'? And who
among us, really, could care about those
things if it's only one life we are given.
Please then don't worry about me.
-
If I had that dog from last week here with
me now, I know it'd be sleeping right at
my feet. It had that sort of calmness about
it. I'd accept that for life, but there too many
other things right now calling forth.
-
My eyes go funny at night. Right now, I'm
alone in this house, not alone, but the only
one up. There's sleet tapping harshly at the
glass right here, and all the rest is black.
I can only grimly imagine what goes on
out there : weather and wind and some
snow with the ice that will have to turn
to rain with this temperature as it is.
-
Really, that's all nothing, and it fades away
falsely, for it still remains real. Reality has
no fissure to slip though; it's sort of always
with us, and if that's not the solution, I guess
it's the problem. We wouldn't be here anyway.
-
My peripheral vision gets weird late at night -
as I sit here alone, doing whatever I'm doing -
writing, drawing, even painting some nights,
or dreaming those dreams of some other place
or time, I swear I see crowds and loads of busy
people around me, and at the corners and the
edges of all that I have. Which isn't much,
though I class it as a crowd. A real jitterbug
bunch. No, I'm not mechanical yet, but I'm
running on a hunch.
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