Still Still
Stagnancy will be the death of me.
As the world spins in perpetual motion, I sit impatiently idle.
As the currents of the city sweep up its dwellers into the kinetics of urban existence, I remain static, wishing for an energy great enough to move me.
Even the frozen river flows beneath the surface of stillness, yet I float at the pace of a glacier.
Aching to be one with the wind, I stand as sturdy as an oak in a hurricane. My roots have grown strong beyond my benefit.
Chained to my life like a dog to a post, I spin in circles, eating away at the slack in my leash. Pulling harder and harder, choking myself without making progress, as if it were the only way.
Chaos rules my motionlessness, as peace comes with progress.
Mind in a haze as I drown in a pool of malted distraction. Rising to the surface for air is no better, as my lungs fill with the smoke of a Humboldt wildfire. At least the stagnancy is now tolerable.
That which holds me down is also what props me up. Solving the conundrum of my inactivity will cause me to free fall.
With nothing to catch me, it may mean my demise. But at least, for a brief moment, I’ll again be in motion.
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