Zorida Mohammed
Escaping To The Ravine Again
The humdrum meaningless shit I had to do
over and over and over again.
My poor little life was choking to death
under kids I did not make, and the yoke
that grown ups in poverty foist on their kids.
The drudge work would not be so unbearable
if the folks in charge did not dog and kick you
for not doing it the way, the only way
one of them would have done it.
Anyway, here I am at the end of my career,
and I’m in the ravine again,
chasing fish on the internet, not fish,
but any article that catches my fancy
while paperwork waits—
the endless pile of paperwork.
I have to duck out to keep my sanity,
to free my brain, drown it in the ravine,
so I can last the rest of the day.
I do it between scheduled clients.
I make a beeline for the internet ravine,
flowing with all sorts of small fry life,
snippets that I can trap and tap into immediately,
a little mystery, learning something new,
propping me up, drinking ravine water,
internet-water delaying me
from getting back to the endless noting
and documenting.
Consciousness/unconsciousness,
and all other projected psychic apparatus,
reside in the body, the whole body,
not only in that pile of grey, grey matter
housed in our heads.
It reminds me of Indians toting cow shit
to purify their dwellings.
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