Inaction is the root of my frustration...
Like some paper-tiger goldfish, stuck in a restaurant water feature too small to support one let alone ten, that breaks the thin skin between unbearable life below and invisible death above, eyeing the vast universe of plate glass and neon with unbridled malice, testing lungs that ache with chained monotony or sweet fleeting freedom, gaping and suffocating and ducking below the surface for one more caged breath, daring the world to notice its defiance and challenging those who look on in piteous curiosity or pleading for the perceived cruelty that can only be conceived by the innocent and ignorant,
so sit I.
Like some paper-tiger goldfish, unable to break the thin skin between unbearable obscurity and invisible promise, unable to make a terrifyingly heroic leap into potential somethingness, trapped in sloth of my own forging, unwilling to taste sweet consuming freedom, and swimming in terminable indecision that blunts the will and drowns the soul,
so sit I.
© Jeff Wilson, 2009
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