- Poetry - Muse! -
There is a stench in my shoes, a staleness in my coat, a crust on my skin, and I lie awake on shifting dunes measuring my life not in cups of coffee, but in full moons; not in the rungs of a ladder climbed, but in the horizon’s loom. I don’t know what I’m trying to become, and, Muse, I have never appraised myself by the sum of some bank account, or how precise I have laid out the tracks of a plotted, straight life, but this leaves me standing alone in uncharted untrailed untraversed w i l d p l a c e s. I howl to the darkness of the natural world and serene indifference whips, blows through in reply. Oh! Muse! – What are we but things that blip alive in a brief awareness, and vanishing in rapidity as brilliant and passing as lightning that crackles life and light across a dark, swirling void? Muse! – Where do I strike? What do I conduct this charge of self through? I am building up static and dangerous weather patterns, and I’m raging at the point where I am searching for a key on a kite because if I don’t strike soon I’ll fry myself. I’ll end my life. Muse! – Spin me blindfolded in a field, and send me on my way. What better direction could one go? I carry the vitality of the storm, the weariness of the road, the moon in all its forms. There are railroad ties to build with and bind, to guide with certainty with rigidity to carry you and all your earthly possessions in comfort to your predestined goal. But I? Muse, you and I roam. |
Want to support my delusions of being a paid writer and philosopher? Check out any of the options below to make a donation.
Venmo: @alessandra-ragusin PayPal: PayPal.Me/agragusin Archives
May 2020
© Alessandra Ragusin 2016-2020
|