Works In Progress

Happy Poetry Thursday. I have a poem, yes, but first: this message.


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powered by ODEO








powered by ODEO

work in progress

moments like these
you want to jump out of your skin,
rearrange your bones,
and leave as someone else.

moments like these
you realize at last you are drowning,
and no one,
no one will see you waving.

moments like these
are awkward as an adolescent’s hard-on,
too bulky to hide,
too base to hide from.

moments like these
are cunning, conniving, cruel.
they bite you in the ass
with your own teeth.

and when your back is turned,
you will sneak up on yourself,
and you will clutch your throat,
and you will throttle you.

but somehow you will get away
and wrestle yourself to the ground.
you’ll go at it like a pair of shadow puppets
or a solitary lunatic.

because in moments like these
everything you had ever believed
and everything you had ever doubted
will switch places.


- - - - - - -


The self-portrait illustrating this poem was taken and printed some time around ninth or tenth grade. Despite what I write in the poem, which is more than a decade old because I am a slacker, we really don't change all that much, do we? The beliefs go back and forth, sure, and we are challenged all the time (if we're smart, that is—if we don't believe tomorrow what we believed yesterday, no matter what happens today), but our souls seem to guide us unfailingly toward something predictable.

In the photo, you can see, if you look past the goofy stance (which is significant, yes), books—encyclopedias!—, gigantic speakers for my music, and a flair for the artistic. Those loves have not left me and have guided everything, even my search for beauty in all things.