They say write [about] what you know
But what if you know very little or practically nothing?
What if the only thing you know about
Makes little or no sense to anyone – including yourself sometimes?
There are the absolutes
I know that fire is hot; it also burns and you can cook with it
I know I cannot breathe under water
I know that if my heart stops beating, I’ll die
I know if I don’t eat, I get awfully hungry
My intestines work involuntarily
But about the pain and confusion
About the pondering and observations?
And the loss of vocabulary regarding
Banal discussions about lines or weather?
Does anyone really care?
I know about the urges and the want
Bottlenecks of energies unfulfilled
I know that it’s all make believe
The politics the religions and the careers
Smokes and mirrors – sleight of hand - knots
The arts and some crafts make happiness
As do simple moments unspoken unpromised
I know it’s all going to come to an abrupt and brutal end
I know, I know, it’s all so depressing
I suppose the answer it to not write - this I know
