Events

Events are the coffin nails.

I see them slowly driven,

one after another,

by that perceptual style

that perceives life as events,

they appear, are handled,

driven into the moment,

and disappear into the bygone.

But those events,

as themselves are cold

to my eye sockets

for me to see them.

Although my mind

is a concessionaire of word activity,

to harvest events as the past

from my memory bank,

claimed politely as occurrences

is, in all ways,

always upon further review.

These are fat grade memories

that are able to be gulped!

They are depictions

in this frozen frame style

that has drained the inspired about

life-blood of the moment away.

At this point, their captions of recall

have no live delivery left in them.

Added together, layer upon layer,

slowly over time, these events

are tethered by thin ties

to expectations and story lines.

These as events

are an overlay glaze on the now

until now is all about recall

as something filled with re-visitation

in a box camera mind

re-sighted and recited.

These events are given titles

as chosen frames

depicting something with handles

that is,

supposedly seamlessly presenting

yet now is frozen over

in a false context

where the characters,

accounts, and storylines,

together, is a eulogy in the making,

where my eyes are drained of empathy

as if I am a bystander to myself.

I unassumingly took something

from life

and made it into an event.

It felt captured to me

by my method of possession.

I now have a warehouse in the mind

full of them,

catalogued, cross-referenced,

and otherwise retained

yet the feeling is root-bound,

but not in a known,

not organic to the now,

not in a living forward manner,

for the rest of it

is the coffin

and the beyond of it,

is hard to perceive

as coming forward

into the now,

to meet me . . .