Thursday, July 31, 2014

Of Murky Origin

If not for my purely academic interest in the matter,
I might never have bothered to surveil the sunbeam
That fell across my schoolroom desk, but its attention
To detail was radically forgetful; I couldn't help admiring.

Inspired to think with my hands, I set to work renovating
Every uttered distance of my shadow self's design,
Putting the ideas down and circulating among them
Like a proctor at an exam that will likely determine

The thrust of history's artifice. Fortunately my stakes
Were never so high, just high enough for tuning out mistakes
Who rubbed my lighted way into the existing template
For living and found out later what that really meant:

Waking up in the morning, hitting the snooze, rising finally
Into the honking air, my hunger for its breath doing
Little to sweeten the deal with all those routine reversals
We make unwitting room for, though not unwisely.

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