November 15, 2013
Putting in the time:
Watching: the trembling curtains.
Listening: to the constant hum of indecision.
Waiting: to languish without remorse or hope
of false dawn; to be able to do nothing
and call it nothing. To sink:
where I have never sunk before.
To fade, only to be found again.
November 8, 2013
The other lives I might have led
all now might as well be
dead. Survived by no one.
Barren, without issue of any sort:
this withered bud, failed
in art and love. With no time left
to change my course. But time enough
for infinite remorse.
November 7, 2013
I am no stranger to waste, to bouts of tranquilizing
Self-abuse: drifting off with wilting rod in flowering fist.
Thoughts sliding like water across a pane of glass
And over the edge
Of the sofa and elsewhere. And tension detours
To parts unknown, on days that pass unknown;
Held together by dust,
By boredom and all its blossom.
October 25, 2013
It takes a lot of work
to create the fleeting impression
that everything is all right.
No sooner have I told myself
that I can’t complain
than I plumb a deeper vein
The occasional hard-won flicker of hope
is hardly worth the effort.
October 16, 2013
For too long a conduit I have been,
receptive only to the works of others.
In this way, in a way, I have kept myself
going; and were it not for the pleasure
and enrichment I receive at this font,
I might long ago have given up.
Then again, I might have
achieved something myself.
October 10, 2013
There’s no point forcing it.
I’ve been forcing it for long enough:
going through the motions, motionlessly,
directionlessly, pleasurelessly. Attempting
is no longer tempting. Other than to furnish myself
with further proof of incapacity, there doesn’t seem
to be much point in trying anymore.
Maybe I can give up after all.
I should never have doubted my ability
in that area.
October 7, 2013
Another pointless examination of pettiness and envy.
In which the word ‘subsequently’ is overused:
October 7, 2013
I may as well face the fact
that I am no longer capable
of doing what I once believed
I was capable of doing.
Not that I had any reason to assume
that I was capable of it.
It was just a feeling that I had.
And now I have a different feeling.
September 28, 2013
A destructive overawareness of time
knives through the hot empty spaces
of an afternoon. A sense of urgency vaporizing
into torpor. Even the traffic sounds tired.
Do something, I tell myself.
What? The same thing I’ve been doing
every day for years on end
with varying degrees of failure.
September 21, 2013
“At the end of the day, these few fleeting moments
of glory are one’s only reward.”
Performance video from the La Luz de Jesus Gallery, 8/13.