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.