BLOT: (14 Oct 2010 - 01:17:30 PM)
I say expat Like it was the easiest yarn in the world to weave : Gold leaf and a quick needled Pattern laid out and flapping in the indoor breeze. The window left open and maybe we'll just close it and it as simple as that. Like it is all wine and roses And unheard of dark chocolates In some land, distant, but not more than a few thousand miles away because you walk far enough you end up where you started but that's boring and trite. Really, I do not know Why I am so obsessed with Africa, the Teak colored Mahogany, South America and exotic smells, the Capes of this or that and distant schoolyards. Asia and its different but the same shopping miles particularly practical in various esoteric philosophies. Europe with their old capitals and long afternoons, tea and rhyme and things. But not, in too many ways, specific enough to be NOTHERE or NOTNOW And maybe that's what I'm afraid of. I don't think I would fit in, with the world, I barely fit in here, Just a big boned boy with no real dance moves, Something like a stutter, but not even that. Can't barely hold a beat or fold small talk Into appropriate shapes and long ago, I sold my soul for a bucket of curiosity. Spend all day with the ghosts of literature And of science And of philosophy And of pipe smoke. I have slotted into this living with the passion of least resistance and paths like bamboo thickets at the bottom of respective gravity wells And rolling like a ball through The all about, madly in love with this or that EVERYDAY and my own Unique. What would be the point ELSEWHERE, When everyone is given to be unlikely? When the clouds form other shapes, and mothers have Other names, and days are longer or shorter, or just the same?
TAGS: Poetry
BY WEEK: 2010, Week 41
BY MONTH: October 2010
Written by Doug Bolden
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