(no subject)

[silverflurry.livejournal.com]

Me Again
Jacqueline Dash

I who wanted to talk
of a time inside my soul
that is always my poem-in-progress,
have found only myself whenever I looked
and missed the real happening.
With wary good faith
I opened myself to the wind, the lockers, clothes-closets, graveyards,
the calendar months of the year,
and in every opening crevice
my face looked back at me.
The more bored I became
with my unacceptable person,
the more I returned to the theme of my person;
worst of all,
I kept painting myself to myself
in the midst of a happening.
What an idiot (I said to myself
a thousand times over) to perect all that craft
of description and describe only myself,
as though I had nothing to show but my head,
nothing better to tell than the mistake of a lifetime.