Myself against myself

I am afraid of silence.

Silence, meaning, a time the two-way mirror
attracts to me and I cannot see
here nor there: just a lonely me.


Lonely, meaning, bored. Having
no to-do list to attack, though it exists
always as a persistent sargent, the
dictator of my days

I have lost my trust in it. And I do not move.


I am fearful of when my superficial day
becomes wide open, primitive, with nothing to do
nothing needed to be done, but exist.


what is it? about these times that make me
so full of discomfort, rehearsing the reasons
I havent moved from my slippers.
Perhaps my own fears of my inadequacies,
my disorders, whos cure is much larger task
than my trivial to-do list:


take out the trash
buy hair color
send thank you cards.



When these days occur, or moments
I find myself right here on this very page.
And I would like to be on this page forever.


Staring at myself in a gods eye view:
every part of the whole subject seen
simultaneously,
in one direction...while I write
the only words of the momentum
of my feverish boredom.