Improvising to Overcome Lethargy

December 5, 2011

The other I is crepuscular when it’s nigh

to the feeling of being inept, and

in a single sigh,

it  feasts on my modest breast.

Taught to sit.

I only sit. Agitated.


becomes the night,

only long after

meals and memories invited

by wine come and dine

with I and the other I.

Because an evening meal

is never finished

until you’re left by yourself

and hating yourself.

Or maybe not, but just not

quite ready I say.

Just not yet, I’m still so small.

Still so inept.

I’ll just sit in my high chair

and look down at it all,

the floorboards shaking.

And what will you get at?

I ask the other.

When will you get at it?

With thoughts

piled in a chamber, dark and heavy like

a miner’s bushel of coal

ready to carry fire and crumble into–

I and the other I

stuck in a rolling barrel, rolling

head between

the consumption and the

place of self creation

and self annihilation.

What are you getting at? I ask her

the better half of me

stuck between the bark.

Peeled skin like an apple–ripe, too ripe–

thin and brittle little red peels ripped

from me.

Think I say.

God, just think, but not too much.

That’s just it, you think too much,

to the brink,

to the brim you fill your cup.

How long will you let the

self-defeating wake you,

intoxicate you?

How long will the self defeating

thoughts abate your creativity?

You’re late.

Say, how long will the rumination

grow thick

pockets of smoke

that mosh between those

ringing ears while your

abilities slowly choke?

© PAZ 2011


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