20190629.0430

I have posted to this webspace on this date in each of the last several years: 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, and 2018. As has been the case for many of the days in the month now nearly done, the later posts have been poems, the earlier prose. I find myself drawn again and again to composing verse; characters I play in the various RPGs in which I am involved seem ever to put their minds to thoughts in lines, in alliteration or in rhyme, or neither but following formal rhythms and syllable counts. And in reflecting on the years past in this month, I have come back to verse again and again, whether considering the lines I have written before or adding to them in one way or another, giving sequels that may or may not be epilogues for pieces I have put together.
Today is no different. As I look at the 2014 piece, one of the many asides I make stands out. I note "that ether is a good term" for internet-work, as "the online environment does wonders as a sedative." (I know I make many asides. It has been remarked upon as an oddity in my writing; I've been accused of putting my best points in throwaway footnotes or parentheticals such as this one. Such is how my mind works. Here, at least, I need not worry about it. My readers will either read the words or not. But that is always true.) As I think on it, I begin to think the note might serve as the genesis of a poem. To wit:

Sitting amid the too-blue glow
That causes waking by stopping sleep
The scented cloth still covers nose and mouth
Vapors seeping out and filling
Not just lungs
But heart and head
Leaving not sleep
Though the smell is still soporific
Inducing a lingering dream that needs no unconsciousness to arise
And in the minds of many
Stifling many others
The immaterial thought the fifth material
Spanning now from place to place
Suffusing all anymore
Making itself felt
By numbing feeling

Some things do well to not be felt so keenly.

I do not know if it is obscure enough to be "good," as such, even aside from having its source announced earlier in discussion. There are enough clues, I think, to puzzle out the meaning even aside from the earlier note, but I also know that I write from a particular set of experiences that make things clear to me that are not necessarily so to others. Still, I can but write from where I am, as my readers, however few, read from where they are. And I can hope that we make some connection, my readers and I, through that un-thing that seems anymore to mean every thing.