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.