This Same Spot

Keep poets out

of the planted beds.

There is something wrong and

it is not just inside the head.

Another confession in which the

guilt remains a secret still.

And that dream with movement

through the physical remains.

Finding a gigantic infant weeping inside

a small box and loneliness and waking-

up screaming on the inside trying to forget

of course and this was just two days ago.

That same day it was an identical situation,

static, paralyzed in that position. Now it will

be known but it won’t be for the better,

and it doesn’t matter if it matters.

4 replies on “This Same Spot”

Yeah, this relates a bit to some earlier stuff in terms of tone and mood. Also the combination of surrealism and realism, or relating the subconscious to the external, and searching for meaning- those are all ongoing themes.

I usually try to end with a hook, summing up the meaning of what was said previously. This time ironically, by taking something insignificant that has such a profound effect and then discrediting that feeling.

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