A poem sometimes starts…
it has a life of its’ own, it comes to you like
grammatically provocative fairy dust
inhaled through the third eye
into your hands to write it
onto your tongue to speak it
and it suddenly LIVES like a newborn crying….
But it never …. and its not… and I can’t finish it so it stays frozen in the present which then becomes an archive of a life almost lived….
Sometimes … I start going one way and then stop and turn around and go back, because I interrupted myself, with another idea
Sometimes a moment begins and then ends so quickly that it’s over before I can say what happened…. The most amazing realizations happen that way… Like a love you could never take a picture of, it was so brief, but the universe happened before you could pull out your iPhone and document, document, document…
An unrecorded second of existence
Now lost forever
Just like the entire history of forever
Have you ever noticed how we are more greedy for memory, sound, sense, experience, the ability to have some person, image, music, art, ON DEMAND, there is no patience anymore
When something can’t be instantly recorded we have a panic attack
When we have to stand in a field and look at life without taking a picture we can’t even
Sometimes…. Life is happening, you can’t catch it, but it’s going by, going by, going by, it’s turning colors like that sunset you can’t catch, it’s going by, going by, sometimes.
It’s pretty hard for me to finish
being poetic right now because I
didn’t finish the last 2,000 years of epiphany I forgot to
Be in the moment, I was in the middle of being in
A different moment
A while ago