stay busy stay too busy to think
this will work for a while
all the tricks work for a little while
but you become immune
too tolerant of everything
too tired of reflecting
you are so tired from thinking that you have no energy for anything else
avoidance is a kind of lying
if you’d only stayed busy
if you’d only not started getting up alone
hours and hours to pick apart yourself
to feel yourself unravel
to knit yourself anew to contain the rest of the day
but you’re fraying
the pattern is an old one
thumb print blurred
missing corners
the needles slip
your fingers cramping
and there is never any less day
stay busy
or you will come
undone
This is the 5th in a recent series of poems and statements building up around a common theme of identity. I am writing them more for myself than the public, as a tool for introspection, which is why this is the first I’ve posted.
I started this blog as a place for my raw, ragged thoughts then stupidly went and made it a component of my writer’s online persona. I wish now that I had kept it separate, but anyway I have never been a private person so if this is how I meet the world, so be it.
you are so tired from thinking that you have no energy for anything else
avoidance is a kind of lying
The distance between thought and action (and speaking is an action) can be difficult to bridge. Poetry is such a bridge: metaphoric, image-making, employing rhyme and meter to produce a sense of coherence, a miniature tautology, a universe complete unto itself. Meaning from non-meaning, because the best poems are so light they might blow away on the next breeze.
“It’s dark because you are trying too hard.
Aldous Huxley, Island
Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”
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