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08/10/09 - (2)
Every Six Months
It's a relief to be back on this patio, again, tonight, After a six-day hiatus, In which I staked my brief claim on civilization, Just to corroborate my status as a man with a plan, A mission to reinstate my "who I am," With the power-that-be authorities of the Mortality Board — Those moral giants in whom we place our supreme allegiance.
Like subjecting myself to a colonic, detoxification, exorcism, Every six months, For the purification of all my bodily and mental systems, I retire from my pariahhood's ivory tower (Where I hide, with propriety, impunity, Composing free verse that bristles with St. Elmo's fire) And enter society, for a while, to hobnob with reality,
Ask futile questions of those whose paths I intersect, To fathom why anyone other than Sisyphus Would keep rolling his soul up existence's cliff, When he knows he's going nowhere, Hoping I'll meet someone who's actually succeeded And can reassure me that the precipice is reachable, Justify why I shouldn't quit writing poems nobody will ever read.
08/10/09 - (2)
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