Gormless

When I come to I find myself standing in the kitchen.
My hands are busy wiping, straightening, organizing. My mind is numb.
I am staring straight ahead perhaps gazing apathetically at a pile of dust or papers or thoughts that have crept in to wound me again.
I am not even sure what has called me out of this stupor.
Maybe it was one of the thoughts, like a shout through a thick glass door.
It is gone now.
I looked up too late to see it beckoning.
I took so long I didn’t even see the torn seams of its famous
blue
raincoat
whipping around the corner.
No matter.
For is there any matter anymore?
I can’t remember why I started.
I don’t know where I am headed.
It was like this in that old house that sold for a song
on the banks of plum broke in a two bit town you needed three bits to make it
matter.
Who gives a rat’s ass?
Who?
Not me anymore.
Surrendering to the doldrums long locked away by fantasy.
For you they passed the time.
I think for me they stemmed the tide
Of the dark wave of sadness
That has always threatened to take me down.
Down
Down
Down
Down
Down
Down
Down
Down
Down
To the depths.
sinking
Low
Low
In a fog
Of my own fashioning
But don’t worry
It doesn’t
Matter