Work In Progress

Call and response - my friend T, for whom I wrote at least two other poems including Hour Lily and Eversuch, recently wrote me a poem and I wrote one in response (T- 9/1/2017, Jon - 9/6/2017)

Work In Progress

Call:

You, tender soul,

whom I have disappointed at every turn

still you let me follow your posts

you have roots where mine are arboreal, thin and numerous and weak without dialogue, frayed and torn with bustling activity

you know in the present tense people whom I long ago lost

or left

or was discarded by

so through you alone I hear the echoes of their childhood laughter

and wonder

how I might have been different, with those roots shared, strengthened by time connection common experience... Lilies.

Who are you, now? How different? Do your fingers fold looseleaf as before: where has that talent evolved to?

I hope, but I can't know.

For I have disappointed you at every turn

and am far out as Voyager

from your monkey sphere

I don't know what to do with these artifacts of friendship, and I want your present consent, at the tables where I sit: what can I say to amplify your voice?

Your hope

Your reservoir to do the hard work you do

To nourish the roots I see deepening, away over there

with nothing scribbled out

What do you need from the world? I still want to help, I have a few resources....

(T)

---

Response:

Your words are grace

whither weather into stillness

heptagonal framed crystal fallen

distilled essence

mesophasing

consolidating rivulets

Gratitude and recognition

thank you

I see and honor your essential divinity

As always

I'm deep soul diving

and balancing infinities

grokking paradoxi

party of one, bring your own god

Trying to make sense

of cents and scents

chimeric alchemy

the chaos of orbits

deja vu with groundhogs

dance your cares away

despite diaspora

we got us, babe

…

I've been nursing injuries

At all levels

Physical, emotional, mental, spiritual

I can see the light

But my toes are still tangled 

In thorny tumbleweeds

I need what we all do:

A vision, mission, or purpose -

Something to love;

And the usual space, time, money, therapeutic aids…

Some sort of studio laboratory gallery

The first half is coming into focus

The last part is a balancing or act

I apologize for the awkwardness

during my desperate

trials towards self-sufficiency

We can't always

see the beauty and pleasure

in our own pain

I can offer as recompense

only peace, love, and dithyramb

and present my artist's license

and the title of my pièce de paix:

"Work In Progress"

...

In less poetic terms -

I'm doing physical, psychological, and spiritual therapy

Trying to address things at different levels

Even though I know that separateness is an illusion

Biding time in public housing

Until I'm healthy or aware enough to work again without further injury

I'm still trying to break into the areas

Of biofeedback, neurohacking, and self-diagnostics

While also engaging with and expressing 

The creative essence

I'm still struggling, though much much less than before

I know a good part of where I need to be

But still have some frustrations

Regarding how exactly to get there

(Jon)