...ok, I'm just kidding. I wouldn't dare. My brain molecules are mutating. Here's a poem instead:
Keeping Things Whole
In the field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.
We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
Today I have been dreaming about the studio. I imagine myself painting the bluish-grey-green of a building whose bare canvas is waiting to be filled in. Instead, I am still reading. And I am coming to the conclusion that the more I read, the more disjointed and confused I am becoming. I've come to the conclusion that, in the end, you can never know if what you're doing is the right thing. I'm speaking in terms of teaching writing... but I suppose that goes for just about everything.
I've been alternating between laying in bed and sitting in a chair all day. I'm beginning to feel like a muscle-less lump. I'm not even sure if I constitute a lump anymore. I can feel my muscles atrophying. Rita, I hear ya. I'd say we should walk around the lake, but I'm afraid we wouldn't make it very far.
I think I'll stand on my head, do jumping jacks, and then revel in light-headedness for awhile... if only I had the energy. Maybe I'll drink kool-aid instead... and wait for the sugar to kick in.
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