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from somebody to nobody and back
by Charlie Morganthat wooly night, the one with sticky points;
visited me early today; i'm confused by that.
but still i'll go home early today; mill about;
avoid all interaction, even with Sagan's universe
firmly in mind, that i too am now a dinosaur;
now, it's Mister Morgan,
not Charlie.
i didn't know that as a turning of a moment into
a long era of unknowns; a going existentially home.
so the asteroid hitting meOrb is in human form;
so apparent is the morphing that the clothes
are still holding the hidden person hostage .
we toil hard all our life to hide the real us.
in the end i find me; still confused, but about
different things, intrigued with others; angry
by others; flabbergasted by some, awed, then...
g'wan, pitch me in a waste basket of agers in the corner
where languishing is now to be my will for the moment.
toss me in! it's a fun game. ok. give me my heart back,
i'm going home.
10/31/2008 Posted on 10/31/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 10/31/08 at 03:33 PM awwwwww.... well, if it helps any, I'll be happy to be in that waste basket with you. We can take turns spreading out those crinkled waste paper basketballs that actually make it in when tossed, and scribble great poetry on them. Then we can take turns hooting at the shooters that miss. Whatcha think? It will pass the time while we wait to go home. Just for the record, you ain't no nobody. Ever. |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 11/03/08 at 08:22 PM To love the "real" self. Man. That's the chunk of stuff on my plate at the moment. And then, the wondering if, in the end, we find ourselves discarded like the stuff no one has a use for anymore. It's nice to have a place, just one place, where it's safe to be "real", and still be loved. That is the most precious gift, exchanged betwixt. Love you. |
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