When The Ship Lifts

Monday, September 08, 2008

Can’t seem to wrap my mind
round those final feet
in this my inevitable
with all my desire
I cannot bring me to care
they have not beat me
though one could not tell
from the weariness in here

I have in my eye
this thing I cannot see
this weakness, tiredness
that is relentless
untiring
and I stumble
I mumble

Forget the dreams
forget these memories
I’ve banged my head
against this wall
strained for this
for all these thousand breaths
and it will not shift
perhaps I will not shift

I talk to myself
aloud, to my followers
of weakness, tiredness
my mind relentless
untiring
still, I stumble
I mumble

Fix me
lift my countenance
to meet yours
drift this transom
to face the setting sun
abandon this strait
to meander free
unfetter me,
lift anchor
all bills are not paid
set me loose

Still talking
out loud
took seven days
to finish just one
too long, too long
these words, these breaths
shift my colors
I’m tired, tired.

Ever have one of those days when
your glasses are crooked on your face and no amount of adjusting will work?
When you’re convinced that your face is just too oily and wash it a hundred times to see if that will fix it?
When your nose itches and won’t stop, regardless the socially unacceptable actions you take to resolve the issue?
When you stare at the same thing you’ve done for 10 months straight, every single day, and can’t make sense of it?
When you walk home at precisely at half the speed you would normally, making 10 minutes into 20, talking to yourself the entire way?
Have you ever recited, to yourself, the litany, “whatever, dude,” over and over maybe a hundred times in the span of twelve hours?
When is the last time you reviewed your condition, your moment as-it-is-right-now and said “This is not me, not right, not welcome?”
This, in ever increasing frequency, is the sort of day that haunts me. 
I am truly tired.  I was tired before, but this is tired beyond that. 

I don’t want to be tired.