Harangue

the insidious grip tightening
blinders on my inner eye
frames the unclear solution
like liquid silver blurring
spokes in the sky
rows of peanuts glimmering
over the sad specks
on the linoleum
shimmering like puddles
of antifreeze in the July heat
the day withering
like strips of jerky
hanging

graffiti head
too quiet within
stark tidings scrawled
upon my eyelids
squibs such as
‘you are the anti-zen’
and ‘wheels out of balance’
wooden bench hard against my spine
reminding me to look back
upon the hard places of my life
it’s not the getting to
it’s the getting away
moving ahead just to fall behind
not the change but the changing
movement of the clock
measures losses tick by tock
resetting means only
delaying the inevitable
bottoming out


© 2000 Melissa Songer