Turning Back

Notwithstanding age, the indifference of all
Platitudes, notwithstanding the facile
Hubristic idiom, dogged repudiations –
Partake in child’s play –
Try to imagine nothing.

Cease the civic audient feint, the encumbrance
Of the antediluvian thoughts you larrup,
Leave the absolving citied murmur –
Drain sound’s laver –
Dry, but for self.

Abrogate the altitudinous waft of gentians
To the high white on white pallor,
Deny the balms carried by the wind –
Hold, not a breath –
Sustain vacuity.

Let your mouth parch from the executive
Canards of refinement, the ineffectual
Bromides, culture’s buncombe cuisine –
Spit out the aftertaste –
The present nadir.

Forget the sprightly impassioned tactility
That rankles in a toss of bed sheets,
The sweltered attempts of rapprochement –
Contrive a tepidness –
A supple entropy.

Close your eyes, release the unballasted
Stowage, and glower into the sullage;
The ineludible persona non grata –
Succubus of the soul –
Kiss it, turn –

Face the consternation at the demarcation
Between what you know, and nothing,
Know that moment; almost nowhere –
“Zero at the Bone” –
Then ameliorate.

- The Fool
- photo: artist unknown
- This posting first appeared @ Shouting in the Dark" 2007