… just float.

J. K. McDowell

April 2014

 

Flock flight skyward, wing beats whirl and the spiral

Forms in your field of vision. What you see is real.

Never, never, doubt your sovereign experience.

 

I’m so sorry, there is no way back to before.

There is no pass go to tomorrow, either.

More broken promises, I slept through the night Lord.

 

Recurring dream: Another coffee date with

Nietzsche’s Demon.   She tells me she has given up

Drinking spirits for Lent. And I say “not again?”

 

Stray dog days wander the olive groves. No wonder

The week folds forward, Thursday trades with Tuesday.

I have stopped counting the lost, the days and the fingers.

 

We starve for advice to adore the fragments

Of our lives. Meanwhile others torture and crucify

Our story, to slake purposes hidden beneath.

 

You can’t see the beauty in Saturn devouring

His children. Echoes of trauma – hungers reborn.

It’s Quixotic quicksand James, don’t struggle, just float.

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