I’m wasting my time. It’s all I do, like I’ve got
an agenda and it’s not there. I turn to this in an effort
to avoid that, and yet where I turn is into another
avenue that leads nowhere. It’s like I waste time
in the same manner that time passes, identically,
as if my life and time were one and the same and we
are skating on an ice of nothing, above a lake
of nothing, below a sky of nothing.
The things being wasted include, the sound
of the ice skates, the long low rumble of the nonexistent
shaking lake, the whispery sound of our breath against
the unwindy wind. So I just keep going on and on,
wasting the wasting and wasting the wasting and
what else should I do? You got some big fucking idea?
I’ve got ideas too, but they’re all wasted because that’s
what all of them are about. You’d think I’d be smarter
than that, but I am. What I’m not is capable of being
myself. If I were, wow, would things change! I might
lift myself from this mess and move into your body
where I believe something is not wasted. Where, I think,
something really strange and bright is happening.
Photo Source: eChinacities
© 2012 Peter Davis. All rights reserved.