The days run together.
Call it diarrhea.
Or logorrhea.
Once you’ve snapped your pet phrases in two
they’re not even half as good
as the old days
when you were too young to know better
than to stretch yourself early
then hang in the gasp.
You didn’t know yet that no one can say
how far is too far.
You can only look back now in nostalgia
at the time when a poet who never made it to 33
spoke of “building the virgin”.
Now it’s all destruction, dismantling.
Let’s not even speak of deconstruction.
Such hifalutin terms don’t fold well
in the pockets of our workpants.
Origami’s for those with warm torn elbow coverts.
Our handkerchiefs are balled up messes
and wherever is the broom?
If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that.
But it’s later than ever,
just ask the Russians.
Good luck with that logjam.
I am sorry, I’m just trying to work here.

Mark Kerstetter is an artist and writer from St. Petersburg, Florida. He is the author of One Step: prayers and curses and The Mockingbird Sings.

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1 Response to Limits

  1. Pingback: Eunoia and Panoply | The Mockingbird Sings

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