By J.J. Tindall
Holiday
This insistent lathe of mind
concocts a life of sorts
from the howl and whirl
of the surging earth.
It hums on without our steering.
Queer. God: give it a rest.
Let us limn a shock
of Lethe, cry us a river
of gilded forgetfulness.
Yes: staunch the grind.
This lathe of mind
revolves relentlessly,
shearing the howl
unto a manageable symmetry,
a simulacrum
of humble grace.
God: enough already.
I seek a tipsy barque
in which to dawdle,
where the hot grind
begins to dwindle,
letting go, letting go,
just to get a little leave.
Not to drown,
just to float a league.
For a little while, I just want to float.
God: can mind limn
one kind brook
through the hoary vacuum,
one blind gush amid the sawdust?!
I crave a holiday from the withering gust.
Mind grinds on, time
relentlessly diminishes
but I believe my barque
has but one more seam to caulk
and then I’ll stop the clocks.
You needn’t frown: not to drown,
but to float,
to flow, mindlessly, in the howl.
For a little while
I just want
to float.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
Posted on November 21, 2011