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I'm at work,
but I don't have things in order

I realize I don't live up to standards,
that I'm faking it, that I've somehow lost it,
that this can't go on much longer,
that I'm about to be exposed
and lose everything

I feel dark, desperate, bewildered,
and sense a strong urge to confide in my mother,
imagining her consoling face before me
- but there is some strange obstacle,
making contact with her hard, even improbable,
my despair rising like a wave through my chest
when, at long last, as I stand in a corridor
at the police station,
it dawns upon me that I don't have a job, since eight years;
that I'm about to turn 75,
and that Mom died sixteen years ago, at age 95

With that lucid understanding
and a sensation of utter emptiness,
I wake up in my bed
upstairs in this winter land
with a blunt, naked awareness
of the relentlessness of being,
hearing Anna, already up since hours,
moving laundry from the washing machine downstairs
into the dryer;
my feeling of bewilderment and insecurity

Working my way through this text
is a way to digest the inescapable truth
of the feeling of loneliness we all share,
falling forward in this intermittent being that is allotted

Fri vers (Fri form) av Ingvar Loco Nordin VIP
Läst 45 gånger och applåderad av 1 personer
Publicerad 2023-12-09 14:31

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