Stagnant and drifting
in the ponds of one’s sameness
where frames never shift
but shrink all the same;
tight round one’s neck and
one’s heart and
one’s thinking
lost in irrelevance & languidly foolish;
a layer tight blanket
tucking the chest and
disturbing what’s left of ubiquitous rest.
Sweet, what not,
mostly not
– not much remains;
no sparks but far days
as a week brings in time
a whole month’s heavy strife.
All these discordant energies
– up, then down –
then up and sideways and
then down again,
fluttering thoughts and actions
of restlessness brought.
I don’t know what I want or need anymore
(how many months have passed again?);
only left here with feelings of being
severed, singular, static and torn
apart by these
building energies of no outlet.
