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Thursday, November 12, 2015

What is pain? 11/12/15

Pain is only location and its loudness,
as if the town crier
is in a village of wakefulness.
All the further intimate details about pain
require personal subscription.
Subconsciously or unconsciously pain written
is what will be, at some point,
a conscious attempt to be read.
Making pain newsworthy is a state of self-awareness.
That pain, as legible and readable, must proceed.
Bumps, scraps, bruises, brakes, sores,
sprains, tears, and illnesses,
bones and festering, emotional and soul as pains also,
are news as mind-fill is a timely manner.
We are genealogically bondable to this, it seems.
But any one of us, as a constant newsstand is a misnomer.
No one is a billboard of fixations
having them become just their personality traits.
Any one in pain, by now, a township of evidence,
is in mercy of the bodily damage
they travel with and through.
Pain is a festering eyesore from a myopic view.
Where we, as a we, have become a cluster of pain,
we rendered results on the surface to the planet.
We exist as a thought-provoked muse.
If I look out my eyes and you out your eyes
as to having a history together,
then time is the punctuation we use.
To keep us all in exposé for readership alike,
we have pages numbered with degrees of distain,
and storied accounts to labor with.
There is the indecency of our chapters
and the ego outrage as the theme of our story.
A copy of us is kept in the library of regress.
We are readable as a chokehold on our attention spans.
What is pain?
It seems, as if we do pause now and then
and have a life other than this celebrated drama . . .
We are not this human suitcase
with its decals, dings, and dents.
We are not essentially the contents carried within either
but we are the journey of spirit possessed
and pain is sometimes the packaging
in dire straights at times.
Three dimensions is such a trip!
And we all somehow signed on for the ride of it . . .


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