Creaky My Limit
By Bryan May
The only
way to stop being lazy is to stop being lazy.
Fidgeting
and nudging and ravaging through the shop, I experimented
with jewelry for every digit. Ten total, even thumbs not
bare, like the Indians of forefathers. Cherokee the
lineage, 1/16th I am said to be. Had I been 1/8th,
college tuition awaited with grants of enormous proportion
and feathered delight. Strike that, strike three they said,
1/4 is the cut-off to claim reparations. Separations from
those loved, the digits I spoke of, still intact. Ten they
were, now thumbs removed and dainty pinky too, resulting in
form seven. The lucky one. But don’t tell. A dazed
delusion I drifted, so eloquently into slumber. I rest now,
but not from lack of desire.
The only
way to stop being productive is to stop being productive.
No dreary
eyes or droopy heart can get in the way of this divine
progress! Stand for nothing, but sit for everything, they
told me. That way, if the news is damaging, you can’t be
knocked to the ground. You’re already there. How are we
measuring production anyway? I can think of a few ways, but
not nearly nearly dearly hardly enough.
The only
way to stop being me is to stop being me.
Perhaps I
stopped long ago. What would it matter anyway? No matter.
Anyway. Not true. Everyday. I am still me, and I still
write even after my fingertips have gone numb and my brain
is on “oozing out of the ears” mode. Ears for listening and
ooz and ahhz, quiet yourself as the splendorous euphoria is
underway.
Bryan May
bmay@emarketmakers.com
