Canto LXVIII

There is no such thing as a wasted day,
just because that project wasn’t touched
or there was no thunderous epiphany

nor some sublime transition that could vouch
that for one moment you had stopped to mark
the quality of light as the sun slouched

towards the distant hill of Ruskin Park
where all the gates are soon to be locked shut
as if the alkies fear the coming dark.

Despite all this, the best of today snuck
into you, through your pores and through your eyes
and though that alarm bell was never struck,

that aha! siren that sometimes replies
to what the world gives for its wonderment—
it got in anyway, deep down it lies

beyond the flailing need for amusement
that is the self that you’ve become right now.
This day will rise when your unrest is spent

like bubbles in a barrel of home brew.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Nov 09, 2011 @ 00:39:46

    I feel this too…sometimes the sheer bloody ordinariness of life amazes me.

    Reply

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