Yeah right! I was trying to do this the other day, but I got confused about how I was supposed to know in which moment I was going to live. They all speed by so fast. I could not pick out the one in which I was surely ‘meant’ to live. So I tried to envision my moment as a big red London bus which would soon appear around a metaphysical corner with its number and destination board clearly marking it as my bus, my moment, into whose creative interior I could throw my whole existence and for who really knows how long actually LIVE! But fate decided that all the buses are the same, and I hang around the bus stop with my head snapping from one horizon to the other as one conductor after another raises a quizzical eyebrow as he flies by. I want to get on, I want to get on, and obey that wise imperative…
a. …I jumped on the very next bus and found it was already full of passengers wondering how in hell they could get off without paying the fare.
b. …I jumped on the very next bus and at that moment its number and destination board came in to sharp and comforting focus.
Less a poem than a fragment asking to be turned into a poem. Written some years ago, it has failed so far to become one.
