Post by alexwriter on Mar 9, 2007 10:33:08 GMT -5
Small i’s
Small i's, I recognize
What the ‘ell
don’t I know them well
that undercapitalizing
lack of enterprising
the diffident, less confident
habit that hobbles the self
and makes for small skies
makes your cage small
so you can't stand tall
maybe not stand at all
I've slept with misery
and all that I could see
was down, below the ground
for so long, and so strongly
I thought down was up
and up was trouble, spent soap bubbles
boy, was I not up to snuff
no, I wasn't, cousin
and I laid there, splayed there
running oily fingers thru my hair
sighing, wiling my life away
until I got old, and no longer bold
opportunities waved goodbye in droves
Then along came boredom
lack of patience, a cadence
that made my toes tap
my fingers snap
to the tune that
Made my pants want to get up and dance
unwilling
Unwitting, my feet followed
my hallowed head all hollow
directed my course anew
followed breadcrumbs, tantalizing fantasies
that dragged me haphazardly
sparked my chilling thoughts
Parkinson-nervous permissiveness flew out the window
as did snoozing, disapproving
as if someone stole my doppelganger
flushed menial, cranky memories
that clung like chain mail
protecting me, but weighing me
finding me wanting
my troubles daunting
demanding I think not, but instead sink or swim
at someone else’s whim
or rely on Jim, or some other brother
or cousin or loony-tuney creepy crony
you know all that baloney
So here I am, deleting spam
starting to jam, bam, bam
uncurling my sterling self
willing my feet to follow the beat
The marching band that plays
the haze that fades
the lazy malaise that falls away
leaves me light, lightens my load
invites me to follow the light
that leads to the breezy, easy way
the path that goes up, up
and out of here
Alex 11/10/06
Small i's, I recognize
What the ‘ell
don’t I know them well
that undercapitalizing
lack of enterprising
the diffident, less confident
habit that hobbles the self
and makes for small skies
makes your cage small
so you can't stand tall
maybe not stand at all
I've slept with misery
and all that I could see
was down, below the ground
for so long, and so strongly
I thought down was up
and up was trouble, spent soap bubbles
boy, was I not up to snuff
no, I wasn't, cousin
and I laid there, splayed there
running oily fingers thru my hair
sighing, wiling my life away
until I got old, and no longer bold
opportunities waved goodbye in droves
Then along came boredom
lack of patience, a cadence
that made my toes tap
my fingers snap
to the tune that
Made my pants want to get up and dance
unwilling
Unwitting, my feet followed
my hallowed head all hollow
directed my course anew
followed breadcrumbs, tantalizing fantasies
that dragged me haphazardly
sparked my chilling thoughts
Parkinson-nervous permissiveness flew out the window
as did snoozing, disapproving
as if someone stole my doppelganger
flushed menial, cranky memories
that clung like chain mail
protecting me, but weighing me
finding me wanting
my troubles daunting
demanding I think not, but instead sink or swim
at someone else’s whim
or rely on Jim, or some other brother
or cousin or loony-tuney creepy crony
you know all that baloney
So here I am, deleting spam
starting to jam, bam, bam
uncurling my sterling self
willing my feet to follow the beat
The marching band that plays
the haze that fades
the lazy malaise that falls away
leaves me light, lightens my load
invites me to follow the light
that leads to the breezy, easy way
the path that goes up, up
and out of here
Alex 11/10/06