Poems 1.3 (straying from the plan)

Nothingness.

How can we feel the nothingness? After all, we are supposed to feel. To lean into the feeling of things.

If we lean into nothing, then we fall. Down, down into a dark abyss.

Or maybe then we we fall into the phantom wall. Maybe its not down, but sideways. Or maybe its an arc and we fall sideways and then down, our elbows still pointing up, waiting for the wall to catch us. and maybe its not dark, for it doesn't feel sad or angry. maybe its just grey or translucent or maybe its just the walls of your living room or favorite coffee shop repeatedly passing by and by and by.

is the wall ever coming?

are we in this together?

I speak from the "we" point of view as if you, reading this, are my companion. are you? on some level, yes, but maybe only on the deepest levels which you or I haven't accessed yet.

I wonder...

I wonder so many things as this impending snow looms over my head. After seemingly years of summer....this melancholy suspension hangs around me. Or maybe I hang around it? Does it hang around you too? maybe we're all here in detention together. This gloomy place, can we celebrate it? This isn't a question of, "may," but of, "can."

do we throw a doom's day fiesta? or a netflix and sit-on-the-couch-speechless night? will there be popcorn? what do you answer when people say, "are you okay?"

"yes, I'm just having a Plutonian moment."

and even these ideas don't sound so exciting.

I sit on the bed, sleepless, and think of the work to be done. then, sit at the computer and type this poem on a blog meant for notes from my soul.

for now, I will lean into the nonexistent wall and I'll let the nothingness surround me, unsurprised, fearless and in fact, quite unamused.

for now, I'm no gift to society, no ray of light. but we all have our dreary days in the hundred acre wood, right?