There is no reason for the details of this day to coalesce
In anything more than a necessary souvenir :
If I am now,
I was then,
– Unless the world is constantly forgetting itself, and the world is made
Of granular elements of Time -. And this, is a not so interesting theory
From some anglo-saxon thinker, one with too many
Grains of Time in the emptiness of his palms.
He did not need, like the rest of us,
To work his way through tasks, which finality was ego and confort
– And I don’t want to mention money here, as real value is
in its center : confort. But the same thinker
Said also how the middle ground for wealth
Can be a certain place of disappearance. Let’s see.
Confort is not what gentlemen of fortune
Would look for, they’d be interested rather in
A vast expanse of disquiet. And if they do decide to
Busy themselves in the accumulation of wealth,
They’ll look for a lot more than just enough. Enough in particular
To buy a seat at a different table than just-enough’s.
Dear departed, stop pressing me, I’ll pay you then
In the details of the day : I’ll pay you in the words
Of getting over confort. For the time being
This is me on the swing, thinking about stuff and things
We said before you got your tongue cut.
This is me on the highway in a ring
Driven by a driverless car on the carpool lane
Speeding away from a sum of details.
Image credit : Aka Lucas