from The Transits Of Revelation… ‘My Other Life’

train from BC to Toronto

Scenery drained from my eyes with every movement. Fast
or slow, meticulous or messy.
It was then that I became aware of the sickness of my
other life.
In brilliant sunshine, the navel-gazing narcissistic cynicism
coughed up all its secrets.

I could be like the rest. Hibernating for seasons not
spent under the influence of drugs or jail. There was
no reason –
unless I gave meaning. I had long assumed that game surrendered.

Still, I breathed oblivious to the rat-race, packrat mentality –
the sterile Byzantines, the necrophiliac Philistines: and the
allergic intellectuals masquerading as poets, prosodists, even pedophiles.

I was desperate in the desire to be ordinary.

It would be a laughing matter next century.

© Dean Baker



5 thoughts on “from The Transits Of Revelation… ‘My Other Life’

  1. Puzzling in its indirection, here and there, and suddenly, like one of those tiny fierce winds that blow across the sea out of nowhere, all is clear, all is bright with enigmatic clarity.



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