fact & fiction mingle

unfinished business
waits
in
unfinished poems

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bored

I vow never to be bored again
to use that word
to even think it in my head

bored is bad, a killer queen
ruling us all
bored is so many things
most of us don’t recognize

the night tobacco drives
to fake a high,
or a real vice that numbs
when voices sound like sheepskin
tightened over the eardrum

it’s counting, removing rings
from the hands one by one,
hoping the fingers can breathe now
hoping the verses can happen now,
waiting for an atomic bomb of genius
to strike

do I really need this cup of tea?
another coffee?
another banana, apple, stick of gum,
conversation, slice of cake,
do I have a need for this distraction?

or can I keep on living without

and what do I get from watching the birds?
but know that they’re never bored,
assembling nests, feeding young,
doing what nature has told

do those with purpose just do
because they know no other way?

or do they spend a few eons thinking on it,
not bored because they’ve yet to empty
their brains,
do the strains and associations go on and on
until one day
all converges,
vapor sucked into the sky in one gasp
by one brilliant cloud
to later glitter down and
show all that it has gathered
over the years:

the people open their mouths,
the buckets collect in rusty houses,
the worms wriggle out of their holes
and the early birds get first pickings,
of course

and I watch it all,
the beautiful effortless clockwork,
very unbored,
a well of thought,
yet not doing a thing