April, as T.S. Eliot wrote, is the cruelest month. It leaves its cobwebs on everything. Sweep them away, or get swept away by them. April doesn’t care. This post started out as something else, but left me drained.
April brings jumbled, dusty thoughts. But April showers wash them away.
I crumpled it up, which is harder to do with a blog post, but not impossible. It was far too long for a post, too short for a novel. It rolled into a dark corner of my hard drive, and I was…
What’s left, when all is said and done?
A mind as blank as the horizon
On a cloudless, sunless day.
Nothing left to think or say –
Just murmurs. The tepid wind sighs on;
No great truths told, no battles won.
Breathe in and hold… two… three… now out.
“Just let go, and let your mind go blank.”
Don’t think of pink elephants.
Wearing polka dotted pants.
“Think outside the box,” you say.
I hear your words, but wonder:
If my box is a little lopsided, corners crushed,
with latticed windows and a library
that happens to have an
leading everywhere and nowhere
all at once…
Why would I ever want to?
Slide ruled, compass encompassed, level-headed logician
– convinced that nothing’s bigger than the universe –
you see a skull
no bigger than a hat box.
You are the box. Outside you,
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