Thursday, February 19, 2015

Miss Clarke

I am a hurdler,
jumping
over the mundane.
The infractions of the mindless.
The gesture of the hostile.
The unkind word.
The unmapped plan.
All threaten to leave me spinning
in a circle,
endlessly. 
Have I spent time,
where I shouldn’t?
In front of the t.v.
and the computer,
“googling” my life away about trifles?
How many times have I checked the weather
in places where I am not,
nor am I going to be
any time in the near future?
My virtual reality.
Why am I pursuing that which I do not want?
Information about people I do not care about,
nor will I ever know.
It is as if I have turned myself into a large trash dumpster
tossing meaningless data into my brain
over and over,
forcing it to work,
forcing it to sort,
forcing it to recycle,
and spew,
and make sense of,
when it is overworked already.
Any thought that comes in,
I indulge.
Any question,
I explore.
If I took in food,
like I take in information,
I would surely weigh five hundred pounds
by now.
And yet, I do not bother censoring what I put in to my brain.
Why?
Perhaps,
if I keep myself busy enough,
distracted enough,
exhausted enough,
I won’t have to face
Myself.
My art.
My life.


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