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Sunday, November 27, 2011

I Find Empty 11/27/11

I find empty

sits beside me,

even as me.

We, seated,

amongst the unclaiming.

We make plain and natural

our business.

We are going nowhere

since enough of what we do

is everywhere else but here.

We are waiting

to convert our incessant talk,

to make religious discovery

out of our otherwise

sacrilegious noise.

Expeditiously,

the we of me,

occasionally finds

empty has temporarily gone.

And now is replaced

by my new friend, discovery.

All of a sudden,

I, that is we, are busy.

Discovery has brought me lace

in medicines of exotic symmetry.

Ebony, now too

greets me as a friend.

Discovery has made silk and steel

into verbs for me

and leads my speech

to finely woven narrative actions.

Discovery though,

makes me hungry,

but discovery eats alone

and so do I,

so very alone but not empty.

Usually, when like this,

I eat from a nowhere pan

of fried and crispy anguish.

It is too cumbersome

to long endure

yet it is too bothersome

to eat out of expectation’s call.

And so I have a dismal snack

of nervous fats and leans,

abashed in shallow bowlfuls.

And I wash it down soberly

with liquored disenchantment.

We, that is the we of me,

abandon any idealistic thoughts

and forsakes any romantic feelings

as refuge during this meal,

but I do belch to myself

with a connoisseur's detachment

as later in the form of a next then,

comes calling.

Discovery as my muse,

has not returned again.

Ebony has gone political in my view.

The lace has become a soupy mess.

Steel's temperament is for now

much too brash.

And silk begins to remind me

of mucky memory days.

The life of my verbs has become,

let’s say, professional lushes,

while this night's speech

is to an audience of cloistered voids.

And actions, my actions,

well, our actions,

are simply make do anachronisms

keeping me as amber

where I find empty,

not a fluid state of being

but solidified of being in time . . .

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