Sunday, October 20, 2013

Hocus, Focus


It’s hard to track something
Unknown
I’m not sure what “focus” feels
Like, smells like
How it pings or ripples
The ionizing pattern of its
Path

Difficult for you to teach what you can’t
Circumscribe, define
Display for me to
Imitate

A black box, known only by its
Outputs—evidentiary
Success

Or thrown into relief by
Antonymic stats: it’s not
following a script
correcting my mistakes
obsessing on results

On the few occasions focus
Answered my petition, it
Powered in so strong, it
Swept away all trace
When it moved on
Leaving only pixels in its wake
Backscatter on my soul

Here’s what little I recall:

Beneath my thumping heart my
Threaded breath
A low internal thrum, a tuning fork
Vibration that aligned my
Hand, and foot and
Eye

An almost absent self
Out-of-body seeing splendid moves from
Slight remove

A blessed lack of
Thought

It
Felt
Good



1 comment:

  1. Focus is one of those things you just KNOW.. now if I just KNEW how to get there reliably...

    ReplyDelete