This poem is a work in progress.
We may begin anywhere as easily
as my hands in a stasis of blue light,
tracing the keys without a single intention.
I had a thought and now it is gone.
I had a desire, but now I’ve forgotten it.
I sit and try to focus on the faintest outline.
What did I feel? I know I felt something, yet nothing remains.
And I know that the longer I sit, the less I will remember.
Soon I will have forgotten to continue trying
And then I will sit and wait, trying to remember
that I have forgotten something.
I cycle through internet tabs, and there is nothing there
I open the door of the fridge, but I am not hungry
I wash my hands when they are clean
I lay down when I am not tired
I live when I am dead.
There’s something I must have forgotten
And sometimes I panic, when I hold that awareness
By its escaping tip, as though I were struggling to wake.
I stare at a box of assorted éclairs in the freezer
I could get a few and let them defrost. Those might feel good to eatif only for a moment
And then nothing, and I close the door. I make eye contact with the dog.
I say, goodbye dog, and go upstairs. I watch the wood steps disappear beneath me
It takes patience to remember what to do in the day
And to know who we are, beyond the series of phantom-sensations
I have an identity, I am hungry. I am sober. I am sleepy. I am forgetful. I am bored.
Boredom, being that magical space
between nothingness and creation
a few more days of this and I'd invent the indoor rope swing
There’s no one in the world to talk to
Because the Apocalypse has happened, and everyone has died
without any notice. Things just stopped changing,
you'd walk out the door, and find all the moving cars
are completely empty, retracing the same roads
like a flirt with insanity, an infinite return. We live to burn
this divine circle into place.
And this is the manifestation of absolute death,
We may end anywhere as painfully.