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AUTHOR'S NOTE - to whom it may concern:
This and all my other pieces on this site are obviously works of fiction (fruit of the creative mind) . I'm glad if my readers feel stirred by them & respond. However, if some of you think that by reading my poems you can see my reality or detect my behaviour and then feel entitled to point a moral finger at me, you should go back to your literary criticism books and do your homework. You are apparently confusing fact & fiction, author & narrator, people & characters.
Thank you so much! AND NOW TRY TO ENJOY AGAIN:
***
for more than a year now
he has had this thing inside of him
- this pacemaker, impulse giver, switch,
un relais à sentir ou quoi? , whatever you may call it -
that in some inexplicable way
and for some unfathomable reason
makes him think of her.
each and every day for more than a year now,
he has been thinking of her
and now it is wearing him down.
in a long downward tumble
losing his grip
forgetting himself
pretending
he has finally come to realize
that this is what is happening to him.
at least once a day
he is feeling her
like a pang in his heart
or an explosion in his mind
or a punch in the stomach,
full of joy or pain or both
depending on the sort of reality he is finding himself in.
but there has never been a single day
for more than a year now
without it. the nights as well.
and so he is asking himself
what to do?
how to proceed?
and the answer is -
nothing -
he is just going to live with it
till it stops
losing his grip
forgetting himself
pretending
and then -
nothing.
jkd jkd
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jkd jkd
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