Archive
10/14/09 - (2)
The Contemplative Life
This Wednesday night, as I contemplate my life, I'm not intending to come to any definitive conclusions About my future, my present, and certainly not about my past,
Since all three dimensions are incredibly indistinct, oblique, What with insidious dementia Pacing tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow's front porch,
Even as right now's misplaced keys, papers, and wallet — Those myriad nattering perplexities aging imposes — Are getting the better of my best intentions to acquit myself well
And the muttering, quizzical frustrations of blatant forgetting Are pummeling my long-term memory into dismal submission, Causing my youth's cherished heritage to suffer inutterable humiliation.
And so, there, in a very pithy poetic pea pod, you have it — The stillborn conclusions of tonight's life-contemplation, A transcendent, transformative overview that died on nonarrival.
Ah, but then, what could you possibly expect From someone without a solitary philosophic bone in his gray matter, An un-Socratic/-Hegelian/-Platonic/-Spinozistic bonehead,
Who never really had the right stuff, in the second or third place, To plumb the depths of his negligible existential essence, Let alone access the primal recesses of his less-than-estimable intellect?
Indeed, this Wednesday evening, if truth be true, All I ever expected was to open up a trialogue with the tenses, Not conclude that contemplating life is, conclusively, inconclusive.
10/14/09 - (2)
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