19 Feb

Isn’t it easy how other things
can begin to define us?

Boiling in this infernal informational
depot of screens
rot seeping creeps in and forms us
if we let it,
and even if
we think we didn’t.

A curious youth
took a peek through a dark taboo portal:
“I wish I didn’t see that.
I can’t get it out of my head.”

I don’t want your damned reformation,
whoever you are.

I remember walking across tree-lined Solon road
to River-Run park,
where the overhang is.

A tree
with a unique crook in its trunk
invited me to climb
the Chagrin which flowed below.

From my royal perch, I watched
the river.

Did you ever really watch a river?

All the other stuff falls away like the debris
I witnessed flow down it.

Those extras,

vestigial, artificial crap I saw going by,
then, bye-bye–

An old doll, what is that? Human waste?

Leaving only me
in the tree.


Limericist 2021

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Posted by on February 19, 2021 in Poetry


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