Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

Futile Mastery (Point Of No Return)

In my mind I’m building
scaffolding on top of scaffolding on top of
scaffolding, rising higher. So high,
I don’t dare look down.
Where is all this material coming from?
How far have I over-reached?
What is the true purpose of scaffolding?

I have to think.

I find I can’t
control impulse to build
this rising staircase to nowhere,
as if it had purpose, leads me to wonder

what I can’t escape

while purposed to this rickety outcrop,
as if chair back top to chair back top
perilously climbed, but
calm, safe in my contrived, virtual haven.

It will collapse.

Yes, but before it goes down,
someone please notice mastery
so futile, possibly artless, so I can
disassemble? Do I hear response?
What?

You’re faint, far away.

I’ve reached summit, realize
the sky is my closest friend - ground
my enemy. Perhaps, this is
the point of no return.


7.11.22
10.5.22 edit

28 lines, free verse

These artificial constructs in my mind feel favorable over anything tangible in my life like a rejecting fire. Summit To Insanity?