The danger of writing...
allow a single word
to appear on your blank screen
and it will call up its associates,
many of which will not be your friends,
and like mobsters,
may take you on a journey
you would rather not be having.
The danger of writing...
especially at certain times,
times of vulnerability,
when a particular image,
like this image that now confronts my mind
- that of an empty double seat overlooking a river -
might evoke a provocative word.
I know where this is going...
Do not allow a single word to appear!
Keep staring bleakly
at the empty screen.
But the word appears
on the screen of my mind,
impossible to avoid
at five o’clock in the afternoon,
the winter sun descending,
the biting edge of cold dusk
settling into my soul.
Emptiness...
Life passing relentlessly,
second by second,
a river that never stops.
The curse of consciousness...
its inescapable loneliness.
The river...
painful past to the left,
anxious future to the right,
the present
moment
drowning in its cold swirling waters.
The emptiness of another evening
of another empty day...
the comfort of a drink,
and then another.
Mindless chattering of TV voices...
voices of ghosts,
illusions,
disconnected
from the warmth of a body.
The warmth of a body...
the empty double seat.
A passing car...
silence.
The cat...
padding across bare floorboards
wanting food.
Wanting...
the empty double seat,
needing the warmth of a couple.
Needs...
harshly exposed,
like a line of naked corpses
waiting on dissecting tables.
Longing...
for a woman to sit beside me,
to contemplate a shared river.
The empty double seat...
The river flowing away
as relentlessly
as a poem of desolation
started by a single word.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
The danger of writing...
allow a single word
to appear on your blank screen
and it will call up its associates,
many of which will not be your friends,
and like mobsters,
may take you on a journey
you would rather not be having.
The danger of writing...
especially at certain times,
times of vulnerability,
when a particular image,
like this image that now confronts my mind
- that of an empty double seat overlooking a river -
might evoke a provocative word.
I know where this is going...
Do not allow a single word to appear!
Keep staring bleakly
at the empty screen.
But the word appears
on the screen of my mind,
impossible to avoid
at five o’clock in the afternoon,
the winter sun descending,
the biting edge of cold dusk
settling into my soul.
Emptiness...
Life passing relentlessly,
second by second,
a river that never stops.
The curse of consciousness...
its inescapable loneliness.
The river...
painful past to the left,
anxious future to the right,
the present
moment
drowning in its cold swirling waters.
The emptiness of another evening
of another empty day...
the comfort of a drink,
and then another.
Mindless chattering of TV voices...
voices of ghosts,
illusions,
disconnected
from the warmth of a body.
The warmth of a body...
the empty double seat.
A passing car...
silence.
The cat...
padding across bare floorboards
wanting food.
Wanting...
the empty double seat,
needing the warmth of a couple.
Needs...
harshly exposed,
like a line of naked corpses
waiting on dissecting tables.
Longing...
for a woman to sit beside me,
to contemplate a shared river.
The empty double seat...
The river flowing away
as relentlessly
as a poem of desolation
started by a single word.
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