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work
by Shannon McEwenPeripherally distorted trees fly by
Roadways littered with tension
Anxiety claws at my ribcage
Wanting to feed on my heart
And never-ending politics
Putrefy my psyche
A sluggish gaseous poison
Infects my good intentions
As closer, and closer
I creep to my destination
Do I remain in neutral or shift
Into blissful reverse
Or move forward and succumb
To the inevitable catatonia
09/15/2009 Posted on 09/15/2009
Copyright © 2026 Shannon McEwen
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 09/15/09 at 11:49 PM ...lovely metaphysics de psyche...in the late sixties the mamas and the papas had a hit called: you gotta go [do what you gotta do]...and it went on, you gotta do what you gotta do, go where you gotta go, with whomever you choose, you gotta go...takes me back readin' your words ala that thingee, work. it tastes like chrome...no taste in the human quality [of life-lived] if we can't make it "play"...so,
Wittgenstein says. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 09/16/09 at 01:09 AM ... this is wonderful...... |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 09/21/09 at 01:44 PM Words can kill and sometimes it seems catatonia is the only safe way out. But we must take risks and throw out words in what ever order they seem to make sense or nonsense in the most difficult risk of all, the attempt to communicate our world to another human. It seems so simple with children because they are so open to everything and slowly we teach them to close. |
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