extended periods of anything
tend to undo him
launching the spirit into states of torpor
run the length of
forces beyond his control

extreme heat
bitter cold
weeks of snow...sleet...rainfall
the repeatedness of daily routine
the ‘anti-muse’
as one of his selves once described it
in a past life
or so it seems

and yet as he lies there motionless
illness painstakingly runs its course
feeds off the tranquility...solitude
reinvigorates the life force
to unexplored heights
within

and without
quiet too has a quality unbearable
so the radio or television
play endlessly in the background
speak of new madnesses
in the environment just beyond his
synthetic womb

of poor souls
living down by the river
who just lost their homes
to the flood of a century
lives abandoned without choice
in a manner of speaking
though far from dead

he takes notice
sits up
and begins to breathe anew

© 2017

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05/10/2017

Posted on 05/10/2017
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti