Stasis
My space is frozen,
My life an assemblage
Of rigid boxes
Congealed into the silence
And motionlessness
Of my apartment in this night.
The only apparent movement
In this dull environment
Is the tapping of my fingers
On the keyboard of my musing.
My lips mimic life
In a mockery of a dialogue;
I whisper words of wisdom
But fail to fill my own emptiness.
No wonder our thinking,
Is so constrained
Into the bony roundness
Of our brainy head:
We built this world,
So-called modern,
To be silent, predictable
And without surprise.
We end up nostalgic,
Craving for life, yet getting
Only stasis and death.
This wave of skepticism
Has swept me from my land
And plunged me into
A deep, unhappy moment
Of realization:
Every minute, life
Intrudes in my field of experience,
The digital numbers
On the microwave
Announcing the passage
To another minute,
And reminding me
That time is killing me
Slowly.
