Another Poem For The Unwary...

This poem is long
it meanders where it will
as it will -
like my mind
does
-like most minds really do.

It lacks brevity...
It HAS clarity -
at least to me
for to me
A poem doesn't have to be
a snapshot,
a slapshot,
a pause in self-musings
  which sometimes are all one has...
  self and self-less pity
  wishes
  day and night dreams.

I loved -
as have most all,
I've lost and won
and found
and lost yet again -
that's life
as WE live it
NOT
as we want it.

I used to daydream of winning a lottery
and just how I'd give it all away...
planned it down to the last iota -
but that's me - not everyone,
just me.

I am sarcastic,
sometimes caustic,
abrasive as silk
smooth as a thunderstorm
  creeping in at the end of
    an august day -
but this is September
  so did I say august or august -
  just WHAT did I say -
  or was it both in one?

I've been told
I have a brain -
which is different from being smart
though I sometimes think I am smart
and dumb
depends on the day -
I gather you can understand THAT
and may likely experience it
the same way as I.

I'm a 'listener'
always have -
the person people TALK at
seldom with
of all the things
they HAVE to tell or burst
in flame or tears...
or just to release guilt
or fears
to bathe another in understanding
of their whys and ways
and just how IT failed
or ended
or was lost.

At times I'm lonely
at times I'm not -
mirrors don't frighten me
nor do deserts or desserts
or being alone
or in a crowd
or heights
or closeness
or pain - physical, emotional
not even tears...
I have cried
out and in
and will again.

I like smoking,
the taste of each lil death
is calming somehow...
the KNOWING its as bad as it gets
and doing it anyway
because I want to
and WILL
is sort of perverse
but aren't we all in our way -
perverse
to our own degree
in our own self-madness-awareness.
Perverse...
now THAT is a word with teeth,
guts, grandiose in the schema,
the WAY or no-way,
so many are that way
in their OWN ways -
but I degress or digress
I forget which
though both seemingly fit
but it doesn't matter
for this is a poem
that meanders
like my mind
meanders...
like most minds
meander.

I don't hold self-evident truths
nor preach from a mount or pulpit
just live
as I can
not as I want - sometimes.

Chris Twyford
Ancient117331