Make A Start

What I wanted was something solid, like steel,
like a neutron accelerated to the speed of light.
My hallucinations practiced pleasantries
and curtsies anticipating tea with the queen.

The air around me turned into a transparent sludge
that slowed my car as I kept driving
past white fields sprouting human silence
to be harvested for those who need to learn how to listen.

I depended on my mental map
and a team of Freud’s acolytes
who made some off-the-shelf solutions
available at my local bookstore.

As much as I chose to forgive my ex,
I failed to forgive myself in the same proportion,
thus failed to maintain universal equilibrium
in a counterfeit metaphysical equation.

My daughter died,
January twenty-seventh nineteen-ninety
from unspecified complications
in the womb and birth canal.

I miss you. I miss the dream of you.

The weight of sorrow nearly snapped my mind
in the year daylight became an accusation
and disembodied experiences
became part of my natural point of view.

The voice between my ears that is not my own
treats me to riddles to solve as philosophy games,
but keeps me far from the abrupt edge of Taos gorge,
where cowards go to make an end.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

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