1, poem, poetry, – Page 89

FLOTILLA PIECE

today

I am too
still

to attempt
a poem

get entangled
in inner workings

but there
they go again

clamoring
for a line, a word,
a beggar’s feast
at least
something

knowing how
soft-hearted, generous
I am

even as I sink
beneath the surface
of every ocean
of self-
deprecation

being inclined
towards this stupid
pretence
of an art

can’t seem to
shake off
all those demons and
hobgoblins
putting
images in
my head
words
into my mouth
telling me
to write this
write that

so hearing about
sage smudging
figured I would just
smudge
those unruly suckers out

turns out
just to evict one of
those pests engaged in
this constant invasion

would need more smoke than
if Vesuvius, Krakato
Etna, and St Helena
should happen
to
simultaneously
erupt

they keep probing

but, Oh brother,
this old man
has nothing to say to them

claims his memory
has failed hin completely
has forgotten everything

and he
whatever he was
by circumstance
or blood
is dead to him

but they are ruthless, insistent
probing, digging

looking
for common architecture,
time shared

trying to glean something
from this bag of old bones
before it
becomes so incoherent

will not let him
get off scot free

escape the truth
so easily

reading him
these very words
I am writing now

not a keeper
a brother’s keeper of.
anything like
these
words paltry few
senseless words
you
are reading now