Sunday, September 6, 2015

Rhap365 Day 6: Bottleneck

So here's the story.  I am on the road and without ability to post pictures.  I would post new writing, but have limited computer access.  I am now building a poem within.  Its current title is a "A Multi-hued Silence."   As an idea, I wish to chronicle the many reasons I sit staring at my wife, unable to say much of anything when she desperately yearns for communication.   (One reason, is that I am speaking with her faster in my head than my tongue is want to speak.   And so, today I cheat.  While I work on that poem, here is one from yesteryear that chases the problem of communication from a different angle.



(A meditation on the difficulty of communication)

We are like that sci-fi guy speeding through galactic sky
In a ship shaped like a phone booth,
All phone booth-sized upon the hull,
But bigger than a house within.

We are all like grand-inflated ticks … arms
Waving tiny from our grand inner-selves
We are Macy-Day clowns the size of icebergs,
Jammed into our skin like a Jack,
And there, up in the distant sky
A bitsy-valve of a mouth like a distant dime.

They say
the tongue is a fire,
a rudder on a ship,
and Oh, …..the things that slip,
but you should hear
the things
It doesn't say.
If we could flip our innards out,
WHAT a mighty-megalopolis we'd see …

You hold inside your unseen head
A map of a thousand streets
In a dozen different towns,
You are
a trillion trivial pursuits
A hundred books, a billion dreams,
You hold ten-thousand faces in your head
No face within my face has ever seen.

For all the records in the store,
many multi--millions more, never found in print.
For all the paintings on the wall,
A planet spinning like an eye-ball bank,
With Optic tubes and vacuum brains
Ever draining and detaining the outside world.

INDEED, we are
The geriatric planet
Active inner selves … clamped shut like the Dead Sea,
Hanging on a rope
Our passions,
Dammed, by inability
and stroke.
Or …. (Even better image.)

Six billion souls
In a mammoth prison - call it the Walmart-Hilton,
each person in a private cell
all decked in shag and stereo,
wall to wall computer,
Smell-a-vison, Panavision, taste-a-meal, Terra-feel,
Streaming video, thermostats, and dials,
A tin cup for banging on the walls.


#Rhapsody365  #Kirkwork