Turning corners into dead ends in Daydreaming on the Porch

This fortress of books and rooms

surrounding me

forms a rather simple maze

For me to lose myself in,

if I so desire.

I cannot begin to process

all that is stuffed

into every available niche and corner.


It is my known universe.

My cluttered and 
difficult to negotiate

sanctuary.

Or so I think.

I walk from room to room,

picking up one thing here,

another there:

a book, a magazine,

a bag of chips,

a glass of juice.


I am no sooner settled in one place

than I must be up again

and back to where I just came from

moments earlier. 

Round and round.
All the while,

silence.

Unless I introduce music

at an opportune time.

The central AC cuts off.

The wind rustles great chimes.

My thoughts are stranded

in empty space.

I don’t seem to want

to pull together the loose ends.

To make sense of anything.

Isn’t that what I try to do

anytime I pick up something to read,

or download yet another article

on the Internet,

or wander the byways of cyberspace

aimlessly,

turning corners into dead ends?

This rather well describes how I feel this afternoon, 20 years after I wrote this poem. I also haven’t been feeling well since last night. These things will pass.

Last updated May 23, 2022