October Blue

 

Nothing is remotely what you thought

you had intended. Somewhere into this odd
enterprise, suspended in its co-creation

to which you inevitably bring your own
surmises and unwieldy gifts, sifts some strange
other yielding consciousness: the separate

imponderable part. How effortlessly
rhymes attach to “part” – “art” and “heart”!
And yet you will not start or end with that foregone

assertion. Esthetic theory alerts you: use experience
lubriciously – officiously parade your lusts
and loves and sensory appurtenances to distract

the passing eye: resist the comfortable sigh
of the abstract. But you can badly lose
your bearings doing that. I am waiting in the dark

until some different bumpy thing abides –
decides to ride – affront – flap in. I won’t go away
until whatever that is wants to happen.









.