October 8: Soul's Window Ledge

Sitting on my soul’s window ledge
Tears’ urge, up through my gut
anger bubbling over unheard
moans and shouts, berated by
ephithets undermining stretching,
intellectual physical higher tiered
muscles tight, face, down, not able
tears push, shove, pander
through my gut
down my face, leaving
mineral traces and an ache
sitting on my soul’s window ledge
I see a boy, strumming a guitar
walking down the busy street
that faces my front door, my kitchen
window my writing spaces I can’t
help but smile and wish it was
me (or perhaps my daughter) he
was playing for, an old fashioned
balladeer or 80’s teen angsty movie
maybe lifts me from the tale of
tears, the wondering how weird am I
thinking “I can’t get my heels on the
floor so everything is in my shoulders
my arms my wrists anyone who enjoys
this torture as a means of relaxation doesn’t
speak my body language” instead an awkward
insulting flood of imminent nausea epitaph
“I am the oddest duck in the marsh
the ugliest country, confused state duck
who keeps returning because the
quacking, the swimming, the fluttering
of my tail feels so darned good!” even
when I grimace and almost grunt
and lie on my back, writhing in
unmoaned tears…..
I sit on my soul’s window ledge
and sigh

See more progress on: write a (sloppy, half-formed if need be) poem every day (or so) during October 2010