the path of least resistance

a trite attempt at symbiosis

enter in, don't think, don't hesitate, close your eyes if you must to blot out the glut of infomatique, the stab of dissatisfaction in the heart of hearts, do whatever it takes today to write a poem, the sky is all gray, wipe that silly smile off your face, this isn't funny, it's too sad to think that i'm living in this glass palace at the foot of cezannian mountains and the only thing i can think about is the pain that's in my gut, the hump of shoulder and the poker that is my eye, the whoosh-whoosh of tiny electrostatic refinements, you say you've started to lose weight, how ironic, you say that provence is where all your beauty comes from, and i'd love to respond with a rousing "mais oui, bien sûr, qui pourrait rester aveugle à la fin?" to snuggle into the positivity of it all and wrap myself up in fir trees and chimney smoke, oil paints and la vie d'artiste, read books on a linen chaise lounge in the garden in the yellowing sun of the day, bundle up my tableaux and go to the marchés to trade for a big fat agneau (not to eat but to love), but i'm allergic to happiness and the half of it, its woolly sister tragedy, silence and neutrality is what i must practice, like a monk in the forest i must never leave the path.