Overblown Noisy Drivel, And A Coda

If I could tell you when the last moment came,

I surely would, but it was exquisitely hidden

camouflaged amid the good humor and appetite

lost in an uproar of experience

and buried beneath laughter and tears,

irony and terse judgement.

All the last moments hide away

they come in heavy fog

and leave without a whisper

they are resolute and focused to be forgotten

thrown away absent mindedly

seen but not seen.

I will experience the last moment

when all is prepared

and I am waiting with wide eye

and arched brow

forever perched and expectant.

I will catch it with my butterfly net

and pin its carcass onto a white piece of paper

I will study it and categorize it.

And then I will know the last moment

I will cherish it and hold it

I will frame it and put it on my wall

it will be a conversation piece

and will catch the eye of all that enter.

I will give the last moment

as a gift to the greater good

and there will be no more mystery

we will rejoice and celebrate

and as I pass on the last moment

I will breathe full

and exhale a relieved breath.

 

What the fuck was THAT all about, he said.

Well you know, trying to catch a moment.

He sighed like he always does when I get this way

and said this whole fucking poem as you call it

just sounds like overblown noisy zen.

Without the zen.

I replied, well yes, I think that’s the point.

He said to me take up knitting or something.

 

 

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