‘you can say that again!’ only,
i’d much rather you not, i respond
to myself, standing here in
the fog that’s more like
a rock with no roll.
and aloud, but
not very, because i’d
rather maintain this feeling
of being submerged, of complete
immersion. until, at least, i’ve
persuaded myself of a little
diversion. is it that i’ve
grown bored, gotten
restless? or is just
me being, per usual,
feckless? and before i can
know it, i’ve swum myself out
of the colloidal gunk and all the
way back to the sun. oh, my! and
oh, me and my sensitive skin! can’t
you look at the muck that i got myself
into!? only then i remember of whom
that i ask. i was always this reckless,
between you and me. and genetics being
genetics, i can’t help but think, are made up
of gene and louise in my case (garl and mabel,
to be more precise, i should say. to clarify things
just a little bit more, those two were my grand
parents. and they had but just one vice:
they each disavowed their given first
names. so i knew them as papaw and
granny louise, you see?). can we rest,
if you please? my brain feels so damned,
so digested. can we rest while i dream—and with
all i have left—how to kill this disease and arise from
this state of bereft as if finally uncocooned and
and then cannoned right up and into the
magnificent blue. oh, boo-hoo,
if they could only just see
what i have become!
