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Wind Until Dust

Posted by PeteK on May 26, 2016 at 11:15 PM

I couldn't see past that cloud,

that dust storm―underneath it there was nothing

I could call my own. Whatever was there was for others.

When the dust came, the obliteration

was the only vision of home I had―of nothing owned,

of nothing abandoned.

After all, those are the things which measure a life.

 

The One Man Show was salient,

but I'm so tired now―that show can go dark,

still, it was okay to have been so unfledged.

You can have a smoke and just smile.

I couldn't have come up with another wisecrack for anything

and I can't muster up another tomorrow’s laugh.

It was a long running act. Longer than was merited

and longer than impersonators like me get.

 

The dust storm. I failed to live it and it leaves me

in the middle of an unclean and ashy ritual, a face marked

by every dirty choice, every polluted thought,

every messy letdown of connection. So it wasn't even necessary

to see through the storm.

Underneath is where living

has been neither

worth seeing, nor hearing,

nor there for us to know its breadth.

To lie in a gust of wind until dust is the last.

 

Categories: POET'S OPEN BLOG, PeteK

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