So there I was
wedged or nestled
too snuggly-
No,
it was not ennui or an-
other excuse or
heaven forbid,
Newtons energetic projections
about inertia and what not
bottomed out.
It was some other
matter unseen,
pokey, a bit rigid
and there is me,
in the mid-hole,
grinding out granite--damn it-
maybe more like banded agate--shit-
trying to say
things and this like, as in,
better be, another way,
by wiggling, leveraging
without a write word in
edgewise
seems heavy
when you carry it around forever.
Remember the conjecture
about the speed of falling great
egos?
No? Me neither.
I suppose nobody knows
the right thing any more
than what was left alone
to make it move.
The words have escaped me.
Now I am free
to stay stuck--
(in) stupid silent protest.
Portrait by Franz von Stuck, c. 1900 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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