Waiting Impatiently
Waiting Impatiently — Thursday, January 06, 2011 (collage poetry)
We are not seeing the screen,
we can if we forgot all things by going into shock,
And our own sound of them.
Meandering outside the brutality of clapping:
not so much lost as milling around,
waiting impatiently for all things by going into shock,
we forgot our own sound.
Detachment from all things
the cycle of life and death,
carefully untouched
by not seeing the point,
not seeing the brutality of them.
And the cycle of them.
And our own sound of our enlightenment,
And our visions, milling around, waiting impatiently
we can imagine so much lost
milling around, waiting for something
even when it’s happening to you.
Waiting for all things by destiny.
And our childhood itself which is that thing.
meandering outside back into childhood
though in fact, we can imagine so much worse;
cruel, existential irony,
it doesn’t ever seem real,
even when it’s happening to you.
And we never act upon any of it.
