When Every Wor(l)d...
09/26 2021
When every wor(l)d I read
Remind me of the place
Where I should be:
Present, in this time & age
Present, in a simple thing like today.
While open cities of Old & New Amsterdam
Holds endless people from various places,
I still sit here just craving that moment;
Where all of that isn't simply wor(l)ds,
Many wor(l)ds, stemming from a blank page.
When every wor(l)d I write
Is like a companion in the dark,
The floor where my tears fall silently
The ocean I gaze towards.
I rented a cabin up at Big Sur once,
Where I sat and wrote with typewriter, whiskey
And all the ice one might've needed.
The night there teared me apart,
Because everyday was like the other.
It simply reminded me of its beginning,
Every end that happened so quietly.
Heck I just sat and wished,
Wished that I'd land softly back on the ground.
When every wor(l)d simply disappears
And the place where I sit
Is a gray, hazy moor ---
Crows flew over me then, cawing,
As I got up from my rocking chair,
And walked down the porch of the rotting cabin.
What is that pale light in the distance?
Has it always been there, or did it just appear?
Maybe because of the green dress and its glow,
Or maybe because of that strawberry handkerchief.
How could I ever hope to find it,
When every wor(l)d I read,
When every wor(l)d I write,
When every wor(l)d simply disappears?
Is the whole wor(l)d my enemy,
Or have I simply mistaken it for myself?