Doggerel
Sick of this
Grasping writing
Never exactly
what I mean to say
And how.
The lamentable
thing is
it articulates more
truly than my
speech
so I should go
shank's mare and
resolve this
catch-22
with my walking feet:
erasing my words
voiced aloud and silently
and on paper and online --
I can walk
away
leave my lares and penates
behind and be
content with my doggerel;
at least,
consider it good.
In the insanity
of isolation,
life does not lilt
with others' whims
and the world's winds --
it does not lilt, it bubbles.
Life when you're alone is like
hot air always rising,
the convectional
current rather than
the conventional;
it's spritzy.
But insanity
in the prescence of others
is not becoming.
It's not becoming when
you're by yourself either,
but when you're
by yourself,
becoming doesn't
exist anyway.
Neither does doggerel.
But as it is:
Sick of this
Grasping writing.
2 comments:
You may be sick of it, my friend, but your verse enlivens and meaning-ifies well beyond your fingers or voice. I mourn, again, that more people do not respond to these (not so) idle rants, for I cannot imagine that those who read these passages you post are not changed by the very reading. Thanks, again, for what you write.
This is exellent Ange. You express yourself so very, very, very well. I could think about this for a very long time.
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