Asking the confused for explanation is like asking a blind man the color of the sea. It isn’t that he couldn’t tell you, but how could you be sure? To exercise futility is more than just a game or the words to a song your mother sings when lost or far away. To take the fish out of water and train it on a bike is meaner than I need to be, but isn’t it my right? Just to do things because they can be done or try them because they can’t is more the worse for everyday a tragedy in pants. Puzzle out the little things and practice when you can, for putting on the frazzled mind is cruel to the poor sweet-hearted sot.
Don’t get hooked by excuses
Dust under the bed turns into bugs
My grandfather believed in these alchemies of myth.
I thought myself free from the small witchcrafts of threat.
The longer I stay sober,
The more real is the insidious nature of my disease
Mental clutter does breed all manner of
Squirming and chattering vermin.
Every intellectual closet I leave uncleaned
Is a brooding box of contempt,
False pride and bloated ego.
The synchronism of hatchling defects and nursing grudges
Fairytale thinking and firebrand action
Mimic grandpa’s bedbug rantings.
I can never turn my back on unswept philosophy
Or the dross of assumptions I’ve left waiting in piles.
Spiritual house cleaning is all that saves me
From the transmigration of blood sucking life draining phantasm.
Supernatural transformations needn’t plague me if I take right action
The difference between blessings and curses
Is the direction in which you are going.