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by W. Mahlon Purdin

It comes on suddenly like someone out of nowhere.
It's disorienting and confusing.
No matter how hard I try I am defenseless.
Afterward I am sometimes happy, sometimes ashamed;
There is no predicting it. A vast uncertainty always lurks:
Somewhere between here and now; somewhere between peace and dread.
In wonder I watch so many people who don't even notice it or who don't really care.
I envy their ambivalence and nonchalance in the face of it.
It makes me feel small in my manic detailing.
It makes me wish I could be so unknowing,
It makes me wish I could be so unaware,
It makes me wish I could be so self-absorbed in that way.
It would be happier surrounded by unquestioned assumptions,
It would be happier surrounded by hard-headed convictions, and
It would be happier surrounded by unshakeable preconceptions.

I realize I may well be harboring those, but "in another dress," the poet said.
In concentric circles, I'm logic-bound to still other forms of wrong instead.

But how can I be sure? What do I know?
The moment comes and takes just a second to go.


Posted on 11/03/2011
Copyright © 2022 W. Mahlon Purdin

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