I swim in a different orbit
than everybody, than all things. But is this a blessing in disguise, or a curse
in hiding? It’s the dilemma of involuntary non-conformity that one can never
give an honest answer to such a clear question. I have to keep on guessing, I
guess. I have to do whatever it takes to keep me going, physically, that is: my
mind has no choice but to keep on floating about in its lonely orbit.
In its lonely
orbit,
around an imploding self,
my mind lies exposed,
unable to seek
shelter,
unable to hide
or run away.
My mind gets dazzled, in fact, mesmerized, by
the light-works of death.
Speak of a “death with a bang.”
Still my mind can only hear...
whimpers.
There are no
sounds in space.
February 8, 1997