Cataloging the Detritus of my Life
Taking up
Clay
was the
greatest
sin
to Gnostics
Creation Isn’t a
celebration
of life,
it’s a cage.
a prison
for the
Celestial
spark
Trapped in
dull, earthen
vessels
divine sparks,
Of the Unity,
Disunified.
Separated.
Imperfected.
Not by
act but
through the
medium.
The urge
to create
is not a
gift, but a
curse.
Not a calling,
but a
temptation.
Do you know?
Not a blessed
thing
cool off
shake out
save power
See you if
I see you
Nobody saw
I know
Fog rolls in
rolls out.
An ethereal tide
that brings old
memories and dreams.
Images of what was
and what will be.
I lose myself
in the lullaby
of motion.
Today is forgotten
as I am caught
up in yesterday.
Tomorrow
slips away,
and time edges on
heedless of me.
I began to
Doubt
My competence
“Under the influence
Of narcotics,
Hypnosis
Echoe[s]…
“Free will,
Coercion,
[A] promise…”
I thought
I knew better
I swear…
