what do you when apathy has a throat choke-hold
and you just sit & listen to blood pound
you don't care to recall air is necessary
you usually like breathing it?
i don't know what you do, but i always remember that Filibuster would be a very good name for a duck, and there is a little girl who said so that NEEDS me to be very un-apathetic if she's gonna make it & blood pounds in both of us & hers needs to stay inside her and her wrists, and then i do a little mental brazilian jitsu-jitsu on the apathy, wack it a few times with Romans 7 & Co. and buckle down to the hard business of living, the daily duties that challenge me so little that I realize the hard part is not in their completion but in my attitude towards them.
and one day i want to write a story about a duck named Filibuster and the 10 year old boy who slept on the kitchen floor with his new puppy & the breakfast table with Sicily missing from the map, for green tea with honey & the house where even the pictures on the walls cry out in grief and where her every other breath is drawn to say "Death, where is your victory" even though it seems as if the battleground proves it to be right there in the piles of unaswered mail.
in a world this sharp, this fallen, there is no room for apathy
No comments:
Post a Comment