Post a Comment On: Return of the Slacker

My borrowed ambition pen:
      doodling,
                  noodling,
                              sketching,

trying to find
      what was lost

trying to arrange
      what is in disarry

trying to make sense of
      what doesn't make sense of


Like a mind of its own,
   it’s searching the shadows of my understanding,
      probing into my broken heart
         looking for the indestructible black box
            that holds the secrets
               to what went wrong


My borrowed ambition pen
   is travelling deep into outer space now,
      chasing comets of lost love,
         skirting the gravitational pulls
            of black hole disaster zones
               where nobody knows… knows what there
                  is there and nobody can.

What is it learning?
   What does it know?

When it gets back to earth
   we’ll have a party
      to study the complete map of the emotional cosmos
         called me,
      and we’ll put big red danger ‘X’s
         on certain spots,
         and never never go there
            except by accident,
            or if we have to because of true love again

Only this time I’ll have a new,
   re-enforced space suit,
      and extra oxygen tanks
      and plenty of food,
      in case I get stranded
         for a long time,
      and probably a homing beacon
         so you can come rescue me,
            all you people who were at my universe party
               and warned me not to go there,
                  but knew I would,
               because who can hold back
               where love and hearts are concerned,
               and who would want to anyway?


My borrowed ambition pen
   is like anti-kryptonite,
      boosting my strength to super human levels,
         and I’m using it to chop down
            forests of primal delusions
               where – by gum! – it’s still beating:
                  this old heart,
                     this old forgotten heart.

It looks like we got here in the nick of time, too,
   but it always feels like that,
      doesn’t it?



            -Jim DuBois