I often impress myself
by mundane acts such as; washing my socks
or getting my dry pants from the line
or doing the dishes or taking bus to work
and I wonder how I am able to keep on going
getting on in this strange mechanical manner
when my soul is not here–mostly–lately.
.
I want to take off this reality
Like a dirty cloth that has begun to stink
.
Just a little turn of my head
Just a second more staring at the wall
and I realize the miracle of my daily motion
how I am able to keep on going
like a stray bag left in the seat of a bus
which no one is coming back for
.
What a thin line, a tight rope
between keeping up with these mechanical motions
and tipping over to the sweet gnawing melancholy
that calls on to me like that attractive forbidden lover
to abandon my washing task
and sink my head in my foam covered palms.
________________________________________
The miracle is in walking this line