Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

Buried (in thought)

what am I thinking about now?

sometimes, I'm in that place
when I realize the chair back lean
with hands enlaced behind head,
view angled toward the north wall.

mid-process is where I land.

sometimes, you don't get answers
but more questions to ponder.
what is real is how much time spent
in consideration of life's machine.

what is eating me now?

I may continue to ponder in this place,
resolute to stare at peeling paint.
I may dream of a beach from time to time,
knowing it's just erosion caused by time.

mid-process is where I'll stay

until I'm _buried in my own sand.


2.20.22
17 lines, free verse
Edited 2.26.22 with a new leaning.

Just caught myself thinking about the potential for a poem after edit and how the words might appear to others. then, realize how much time is wasted on things that give little reward, these little mysteries of curiosity openly composed, seen from here to that wall where my eyes suddenly focus on reality.

I could sell this house and sit on the beach next to her.

But, does it (the poem) always have to end in death with you (speaking to myself): another thought.

I either live in the past or in the future. the present can only be assessed in past. then, dream of what the present could be like. I guess, I'm not really here, uncelebrated.

Disclaimer?
clarification not needed. for the few that read, use your imagination or your own personal taste. these words I pen are never mine. I do not own a thing, literately (as we are in and then out of this world). I might bullshit you, figuratively. perhaps, as I look in your eye and see a gleam. aha, yes, I see you are on to me.

We have that in common.

This will tie up somehow, someday, when I re-read. Or not. and, move on to the next...