This poem is a free-write. It is concerned with something I think we have all felt, which is an involuntary(?) memory that comes and we wish it hadn't. Memories that remind us of something, some aspect of ourselves and our lives of which we are not proud. Such memories are striking. They remind us of our attempts to create a narrative for our lives. They remind us that these narratives are much larger than what we would imagine or wish. They are painful but somehow beautiful. Beautiful with the ring of truth. Geez, this is a real earnest one.
PROBELEM
the tone wasn’t funny last time either
penetrating, quickly forgotten:
the failure.
source
of shame that stops sleep
stops memory
roaming in the wilds
a course we can’t fathom
groping to touch
the forbidden
hiding in the dirt
pushing the pin
to poke out the eye
the whole month was a failure
the mountain wouldn’t grow
the room wouldn’t walk
the milk soured each time it was poured
and there were whole forgotten novels
of intentions and perceptions
aborted with the rain
nearing catastrophe
beyond making the scene
some airplane keeps circling
water stops draining
animal without form
pacing the bed of reason
a beautiful photograph of shame
the last stand of earnest feeling
don’t you understand?
Kid, nobody asked
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