I stumble over prepositions:
“at” and “on.” The usual things
they mean don’t fit with these conditions.
I struggle with simple decisions:
go out, stay in, cut the strings
I stumble over? Prepositions
don’t support my small ambitions:
life and work-time balancing.
The golden mean, in these conditions
is a difficult position
to maintain. Considering
I stumble over prepositions,
my long-planned polar expedition
should settle for safe anchoring.
What that means in these conditions—
I can’t promise much precision.
Each time my alarm clock rings,
I stumble over prepositions—
their meanings don’t fit these conditions.
Books Available
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
Sunday, January 10, 2021
Pandemic Prepositions
Labels:
plague journal,
poetry,
villanelle
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment