Constructing thick layers of dust (a poem)

Written while watching the On the Edge symposium on YouTube…

A body of work emerges slowly—
too slowly, it feels

as though the body is sloughing off skin

the flakes landing
in random patterns
on floor and fabric
as I scratch them
from my forehead

All the candles in my house have been exhausted
the next time the lights go out
I will be in the dark
perfect for portable radio mystery shows
to cover for the pause in the action

A body of work shifts and contorts
in unrecognizable forms

In the midst of the fray
there’s no way to know what is happening

random bursts
shatter the chaos
of a mind that won’t shut down

I take an aspirin
to kill the headache

It doesn’t help

I open the book and try to work
hoping to fashion a method
of stitching evidence of my thoughts together
to form a narrative
that I can follow
a story that makes sense to me
that accounts for everything
everyone else has missed
in deciding who I am

It’s rough going
everything that comes out
sounds too much like me
the same themes
the turns of phrase
the relentless self-reference

I am not a storyteller

A body of work emerges slowly
ephemera sticking together
hoping to complete the shape
before time runs out

(2 December 2016)