Caricamento in corso...

Voices in the Night

I shall make for me
some natural herb tea,
my unquestioning remedy,
for what, to me, remains elusive...
a good night’s sleep.
~
It does not pleasure me
to coerce unnatural words
in unnatural rhythms, undulations
fit in unceremonious marriage.
I force words after words.
 
And to what end? For what purpose?
Self-pleasure? Identity? Ungainly comedy?
 
No,
only an exercise meant to strengthen
my mind to batter against
the all-consuming, all-terrifying
confusion
afforded to me by life.
 
And for this, I am sad.
Because it seems,
(if only by arbitrary irony)
that the most confusing of words
created by the phantoms
who dictated the structure of
the English language
come knocking into my lonely thoughts,
demanding to be seen, be heard,
TO EXIST
for no real purpose,
in my library.
 
And as I sit, idle, lonely,
in the unforgiving environment
of my lonely domicile,
writing [*writhing] at 4:23 in the morning,
I can only think of the word
“recalcitrant”
over and over again,
keeping me from the embrace of sleep
akin to the annoyance
of a repetitious recording
that I did not myself
purchase nor perform.
 
Yet the word demands
that I find its definition,
and as a slave
buckling under the masters’ oppression
I reluctantly obey.
 
The definition, revealed to me
by the laughing Webster text:
 
Recalcitrant– unmanageable.
 
If demons do exist,
they surely have tainted
my mind, who holds
dominion over my tongue...
 
I am surrounded by dirty tea cups.
 
© 2015 Parker Jennings
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