Turning AwayI leave. I turn from everything, and doing
So releases me from bonds I'd felt,
But hadn't seen. I stare down blankly
At the dirt. I see delightful patterns
In the lines the jets make in the sky.
A feral cat trots toward the river. No
One speaks. Most crucially, the human
Element of life has ceased to be
The centerpiece of my existence.
Consequently, pleasure seeps back
Into me. I'll taste it so long as I can,
Aware that I, profoundly porous,
Can't contain it very long, and, anyway,
The stench and blare of human life
Are bound to, in the way those creatures
Do, insist on being front and center,
Manacles in hand.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 26 times
Written on 2020-11-20 at 00:40
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