So much so – memory becomes an implosion.
The tangle of murmurs
creeping through the air
like some punk kid out past curfew.
The tension, coiling like a fist,
until the uproar stored in the palm
could no longer be contained.
and when the tantrum let up,
it was a travesty of aesthetics.
Yeah, there was discourse,
theories, postulates, all concerning
the relation of body to politic,
and gasping, and passionate throes.
For all anyone knows,
it was an upheaval.
There was a certainty though,
a gleam in the eye of the hurricane.
I made a point to point it out.
Naturally, nobody cared.
And where were you exactly
when all of this was happening,
erupting as weeds
through cracks in the sidewalk?
That was where I found myself anyway,
after the fallout, heaviness
strumming my tired head
with a hurt the size of a crater.
There’s an art to patience I guess,
but what’s patience really worth
when you end up waiting for nothing?