A Few Simple Questions

I responded that the places
where a person was,
were mere constructs
of coincidence and arbitrary
designation,
and that where I was now
was safely ensconced within my own
head,
where I was expected to remain,
observantly,
as all the other places in the
world
faded away
during my silently whispered
departure for a
non-place.

The days of the week have been voided
for those who have retired,
and months only count for those
who pay bills and receive
checks
------or watch the lunar
progression.
As for the year,
we recall only our first birthday,
and we anticipate that date which
will be chiseled into the stone
commemorating our last.
The rest only count for those foolish enough
to still play the game
of caring.

I could not have told you your name
at a time when it still made
a difference to me.

Now it not only makes no difference,
but it is clearer
that the process of naming only
serves to obscure
the essence of
personhood,
which I am more aware of
as labels
and their declensions
drop away
from all that matters.

In fact, all stones gather moss.
For it is
that all objects which roll
encounter resistance
which some call friction,
and friction depletes momentum,
eventually causing them to come
to rest---------
and to gather moss,
which is the life and universal
anodyne
which softens and obscures
the oblivion
ultimately embracing
us all.

A bird in the hand
is never the equal
of two in the bush,
for Platonic ideals exist beyond
our external vision,
flying freely through the rarified
ether
of imagination
into the creative skies
of our psyches,
and even into the mysterious
storms beyond the
edges
of our power.

This is a strange and paradoxical
notion.
For those who are courageous
and confident enough
to permit themselves transparency
before the hostile
universe,
should also be vigorous
and bold enough
to engage it in worthy combat,
and to defend the beauty
of transparency,
and that which lies within the
open gates
of candor and
revelation.

(soliliquoy)
All in all,
the questions were simplistic,
and the questioner was moralistic,
opinionated,
culture-bound to the most
prosaic formulas,
possessed limited imagination,
was quite presumptuous,
and fairly boring.
He asked the same set of questions
for days on end,
perseverating to a degree which
suggested neuronal vacuities,
and I had the impression that he felt
some power
over me,
causing me to wonder if he has
the same delusive debility
which afflicts most people's
relationship with the universe