The Biggest Jigsaw


This umbilicus
between contemplation and action
is so havoced by grey
that the stage we play on
should never torture boredom
but I find myself living mere moments
that if they were all jigsawed together
would maybe equal one day
in a year of damp

I slither from non-care to care-most
and, somehow,
persuade friendships from this maze
that are more somnambulism
than the conquering of loneliness
and the fetid that accompanies it

I give to them a part of me
that they like more than not
…but it’s a part that’s a bit
that if used to recreate me
wouldn’t build more than a toe
that’s representative for the stinky breath
between what burns behind and grows before

So i throw water of indifference
over my shoulder
so that now is never
and the future is now
and I’m fucking frightened
by the biggest dreams
that are raped of ambition,
inactivity, pointless activity,
and the possible love of a breast

(deserves special mention, that timeous war for,
and simultaneous rejection, of, love)

Now I face-long into the avoidance of desire
and that which I’ve witnessed,
wring my hands of impatience and expectation
and slide my tongue against that which I’ve truly begot…