Image courtesy of El Bueno, El Feo y El Malo

He can’t remember how it started,

this stagnation that seeped into his bones

like a rotten film, a canker that slowed his heart

to a mere sluggish thud.



He looks at what he has built of his life,

and  Shock stirs Torpor.

Where did his beautiful life go?

It was a slow decay,

a day-by-day downward spiral,

a slinking drip-drip of foul into fresh,

until his spirit sank beneath a pool of neglect.

What hour did he abandon himself?

He cannot point to it on a calendar –

it grew in on him while his senses slept.

No more!

His will be a life alive,

a pool party,

a place to find joy and refreshment

and community.

He doesn’t know where to begin,

what life-weed to scrape away first,

and his terrified eyes glaze for a moment.

Then he turns,

grabs a spade,

and the digging begins…