The Clay Pot That Emptied Itself

There are few thoughts
in this empty vessel,
steeped in a chemical bath
at the cost of forty dollars a month.

I once worried over timecards
and transportation and shopping and
and where my next cigarette was
inside a dry skull with a dull thud.

Now there are the small, white pills
taken in the morning
before I've given any thought
to this or that or why I'm here;

little, white, divided pills
that smell like paint thinner
stop all the worry and consideration
that once led down endlessly forking roads.

The thoughts that were are gone:
the electric charge of hypotheses,
the rise and fall of battles won
and lost and begun and imagined.

I am left to forage for animal fulfillment
among food and drink and people
to satiate every present, terminal desire.
I am left hard-pressed at day's end

to recall a distinct impression;
There are only rapid snapshots,
soundless, thoughtless scraps of one thing or another
to which I have lost all attachment.

3 Comments

Elan Morgan

Elan Morgan is a blogger, designer and consultant, and speaker who blogs and works from schmutzie.com, spreads gratitude through the graceinsmallthings.com social network, celebrates quality blogging with the canblogawards.com, and speaks all over. She has been seen in the Globe & Mail, Best Health and Woman's Day magazines, TEDxRegina, and on CBC News and Radio. She believes in and works to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

Subscribe by RSS or
sign up to get new content in your inbox: