My Piece

Not given much to tell a story, are we!
Flakes and shards and bumps and tiny little
scrabble-dazzles which, at best, remind
one of some something that occurred some
sometime -- zapping through the synapses
as if they had no object past becoming grist
for a voracious twisty idea mill: with far too
many absent-minded oligarchies at its helm,
wherever or whatever “helm” may be. It would

be overwhelming if there were some simple
overseeing “I” who had to get a gainful sense
of the entirety, its chaos, count the pay-offs
every time a feeling thinks, resists or acts:
chart the long protraction of a twitchy human
animal through its exacting prophylactic
measures: amplitudes of self-protections,
fears: strange half-blind deceitful zeals
and pleasures as it nears the meat some scent

of blood has drawn it to: belonging to its
atoms more than you. I do not know where
to put “love, honor and obey” – or “God and
country” – or the way we dream of one day
breaking links and flying out of sync with
everything – busting loose into some grander
magnitude. Fireflies inside a jar, scarring their
sweet diddly heads against the glass. I was
asked to say my piece. I should have passed.


.