Author Information
Veeven
On lulling Saturday afternoons, when entombed by cascading clouds,
an individual such as I may be captivated by a blank white screen.
After an early, hanging morning; full of things that had no give
and no questions, answers or choices to debate,
I return here to the hole in the ceiling, where I make much of the noise.
And it is here that I draw inspiration from a block, an absence,
a state of everything I feel is necessary being so far away.
I neatly fold into a ball and stay in place for many minutes
and shuffle 'round in widened circles when my windows have been closed.
I eat, I drink and speak aloud. I indulge in matters of the mind
and bodies that will wander by may entrance me for a little while.
I wake in time for accomplishing the many missions set abound
by days and weeks and compound months all bubbling and volatile.
In daylight I will drown in herb and certain nights will have me shot,
followed by the consequence of rising for our chosen dues.
The patterns will continue on for many other decades far,
giving me the span of time to reflect upon the path to me.
Eventually I will come to another glorious checkpoint.
