Self Ease by Sy Roth

Self Ease By Sy Roth

A calm’s settled in.
A field of cloud clover like a soft-green blanket
for us long-distance runners to peer at.
It wraps itself around an old soul shivering
When the clock has taken his time from him.
The world looked at with jaundiced eyes
stealing what he had anticipated.

Where once a quivering heart beat,
Replaced by a bevy of horned beasts.
He’s the drummer who came to a sad party of iPhone texters
Who preferred selfi-ing to listening to his staccato beat
Instead of the sweating encumbrances of living.

It is the calm,
A red-spotted eye in the storm,
A blinking presage without benefit of caring
For what the landscape will look like in the end.

Is the obverse preferable?
Would the legs kicking aimlessly in a barrel before the plucking,
Blood draining in a kashrut ceremony
Be preferable to the mad uncalibrated dashing about to the bloodied finish line?

They sit at their tables mesmerized by the images and its inanities.
They sit at their park benches engrossed in the sublime disconnect
Of the technicolor nature around them.
They walk on streets oblivious to the other walkers
And rate their walking prowess with so many thumbs up
In huzzahs of the numbers steps they have taken,
Or pockmark their pages with emoji unhappy faces
until their world craters with mounds of reactivity
falling Into so many barrels-full of simulations, artifice and artificialities
substituting for intelligence.

The Roomba picking up stray leaves of the dust collected from their sedentary
Cohabitation with their sofas and their filtered light.
Lifeless rays of lights sneak furtively into their space.

The beast is out and the legs of the chickens have stopped pedaling
And the calm brings an ordered sadness to the legacy of the self ease
That drifts in on a wind that sighs expectorated last breaths.

©2018 Sy Roth

 

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