I could never be a lotus-eater, lying indolent on the rocks,
listening to the siren’s call.
I have, however, been indulgent and languishing,
but not dangerously comatose, forswearing all movement
in a sweet inertia; submerged in the sun, swishing my tail
With the beat of the wave against the stones.
Rolling, undulating, sighing with the doldrum nothingness
Of mermaid scales flashing in the sun,
(No siren calls louder than my own hungers)
I have none of the genes of addiction to time’s vacuum, the drowsy slide
into moments which become an eternity of doing nothing,
of rolling endlessly and forever in the arms of Morpheus.
I suppose what I have been
is my own siren, calling out,
any ambition
to move forward…

jeanmichelle finished 5-1-13


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