Friday, September 16, 2016

There is no "bed chamber" there is
hardly a bed

but I must do more than complain

Here in my ersatz adulthood

Here I am
expanding --

And always finding some artifact
just after its usefulness dissolves or
just before it becomes vital
to destroy it.

My beloved menagerie of friends
my wide network spread thin

telegraph silent telegrams
launch chewed wisdom skyward
contemporary wisdom meant for only me

But there is no "bed chamber"
there is barely a bed

though I sleep so sleepfully upon it

I am caked in my regret
like mud

or like blood
cracking as it dries -
promising to fall away.
I am caked in my regret
and sleeping sleepfully
for all the old admonishments
slide right off of me.

It's under meager blankets heaving
I lie and receive the time
in odd doses, hours flooding now --
and then, waiting
in agony
an eternity
for each minute

[So I want compassion
from everywhere and no one, I was told
we want this.]
I want an analogy for compassion
the shadow of a lover
-cast through the open door of this room
that is no "bed chamber" --
a shadow to crouch and watch me
count these minutes hourly.


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