the vanity of impresence  

rm_fivecrows 46M
15 posts
9/5/2006 10:45 am

Last Read:
3/12/2007 1:13 pm

the vanity of impresence

Yellow light like
The happy jaundice
Of a shy god
Drinking pale-light
Wine at a table

Of his knees and
Elbows made.

To speak of dreaming
Is not to dream, but

To remember
That there is
A box made
Of smooth-side skull,
A head wherein

There is December
Of warm heart, no
Two thoughts the same.

(Storms are simmering
In an ugly
Heaven; no glass

Is empty, no life
Is half-full; no

Death is pretty, all
Are divine. Quiet

Thunder, soft lightning.) The

Young god is
An old god, breaks

His back while
Sitting still, sober

Near the windowsill

Looking out

At shifting


At this stage in life, the closest I get to depression is a feeling of lustreless disinterest. On days like this, nothing much inspires, or courts my passion... things and thoughts are just things and thoughts, no higher thread of continuity connects me to them. They just exist. Not even "present". That would mean an import of relevance, a trigger of importance.

Best on days like this to just Be.

Sadness? No, not really.

Just a sleepy displacement. But wide awake.

(Just now, the clouds parted and the sun came out!
That's not fiction... It just happened. Cheerful day after all? Could be...)

Roll another smoke. Drink another glass of tea.

Native American Tobacco. Corn fiber rolling papers.

Tetley stove-top brewed iced tea. Lots of sugar.

Love to you all. Namaste.


curiousinlorain7 59F

9/5/2006 9:45 pm

that is beautiful.. such a nice flow to haunting words

nikid_64 52F

9/7/2006 2:09 pm

Great advice and your blog!


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