hoping to evolve from the slime of despair
to at least a foothold on the plateau of neutrality
i inch, infinitesimally slow,
along the unquantifiable scale of day-to-dayness.
don’t bother to measure my progress,
for like the damnable frog in the well
of my highschool nightmares
i slide one step forward, three steps back
with such unfailing regularity
that diana herself takes her cues for the height of tidepools
from my rhythm.
don’t look for me to finish with the frontrunners;
don’t look for me to finish at all.
just know that i am moving:
but never fullbore either.
i simply keep on, caught in the grip of some clumsy tango.
no guarantees on this nag
except the assurance of backsliding spectacularly well.
the mud becomes familiar after awhile;
the grit, decaying life and unnameable effluvia
seem comfortable quarters round my poreless envelope
hurry on if you must –
i’ll be along,
if not in good time,
then at least in my own.
© 2012 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved
The slow parade of living.