The Day
give name to nothing. there’s
no body to it. nothing to give
or to take form.
somehow thin. and against
the distance – more distance.
for the day spend most hours
trying to find the end
of the day. trying to push
this thing before me
to the end. not a stone. no weight
of any kind.
instead, light. transparent.
something unnameable because
any name given
is merely a convenience. a lie.
perhaps chemistry. perhaps
some history within me
which remains a mystery and so
I live through the mystery.
or the mystery lives through me.
governs me. that is what they will say.
so say nothing. instead choose
the music I find fitting
and listen while watching
through headphone deafness
as the mute world passes.
one image after another.
bodies acting upon bodies.
my own not removed but muted, too.
muted. muted world. the thin
veil of what cannot be named –
that must have been lost.
Clark Chatlain has published poems in several journals, including Natural Bridge, Revolution House, Caketrain and Crab Creek Review. He currently lives and works in Missoula, Montana.
Leave a Reply