Monday, May 30, 2005

That last poem was one of the last I wrote before I got sick. Much of my stuff from then was off--I can't describe how, but just not right, like milk the day before it goes bad. Since then I've become much more interested in direct communication, probably because that is easy enough to set aside when you can take it for granted, but when you can't take simple word recollection for granted, dysphasia (for example) becomes much less enticing as an artistic option.

This is something I wrote later, after I got over the worst of the recovery, but when it still was most of what I talked to myself about. 2 quick points. One, Chronic fatigue is the stupidest name for an illness ever. Two, I never thought I'd write a poem like this. Who can say?

Chronic Fatigue

Do I talk too much of it? Consider:
It has interrupted my physical activity, so I treat it as my exercise;
it has interrupted my friendships, so I treat it as my friend;
it has interrupted my sex life, so I treat it as my lover;
it has interrupted my poetry, so I treat it as my art;
it has interrupted my digestion, so I treat it as my sustenance;
it has obstructed my parenting, so I treat it as my child;
it has undone my memory, so I treat it as my past;
it has undone my health, so I treat it as my health;
it has undone my mobility, so I treat it as my range;
it has weighed on my family, so I treat it as a loved one;
it has stopped me from all employment, so I treat it as my job;
these things for you seem separate, and under that illusion you live;
can you see now that mine is a sublime burden?
I live with hardship yet worship
for day by day it is replaced
and I will remain unified long after
its fusing pressure is gone.

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