Thursday, September 10, 2009


I never sit in the grass
Looking at clouds
I see the world in charts and graphs
I stare at screens
At numerical patterns
Another day
Another puzzle
The pieces at my feet
Disasters awaiting my logical solution
I am a solver

Books, papers, reports
Clamoring to be read
Things must be considered

My only escape is sleep
When I close my eyes
My handicaps don't matter
I can sing, drink, laugh...
Here I can see
Without logic to impede my sight

Awake, my eyes seem only capable of recognizing sober colors
Navy blues, browns, grays, blacks...
The pretty wing of a butterfly
Doesn't shatter me
Instead I ponder the taxonomy
Of this curious thing and its wing

Everything is reduced to a science
Organic, inorganic,
Soulwise, I feel like a dead thing

I'm jealous of those that see magic
Through pictures, I see
How they view the world
Without precision or calculation
No need for maps or goals
Living an end in itself
It must be nice

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