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poetry, whispers

1st

When we must shuffle towards almost sunrise

feigning the desire to do so softly

when we must sit on the floor all day to count the sand of our fathers

finding their failures more numerous

(you will learn to peel back this scene at the corners and see what is called, by some, “smile”)

when we lose patience,

our easy chairs begin chewing.

we can’t wait anymore,

can’t stay under covers;

the day grabs at us, pleading:

“when? you?”

when we cease to think,

weightless,

cease feigning affection, say,

“fuck our counterparts”

take to the streets

and translate what the sighs mean

(you will become timeless

caught up in thoughts pleading to resound

outside of a rhyme scheme.)

when we root out tragic infection,

bleed out all that has happened to us

recently

when we cease to do what we believe we must do

and respond to the resounding sound of the clock knock knocking at the door step

(you might really begin to ask:

how empty do you need to be until your beer is full?

how often do you seek to regain control

you thought you forfeited

long ago

fumbling over words somewhere while clutching an empty wineglass,

watching the seconds second guess themselves as they passed.

and, you might see yourself, frail,

yet unhealthily happy,

staring back in the mirror

for the very first time.)

and you won’t end then

not on the note they expect you to

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About nicolemcfeely

let be be finale of seem

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February 2011
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