The Attention Tax
Paying attention is the price exacted for living in this society. A taxation which is like a leach; it takes the life force, diverts my brain waves, claims the water rights to my river of thought. What is left I use to wash off what I can, never quite managing to feel clean or clear. I sit in the mud puddle still unsure if I understand what just happened; harboring a dark fear of the wave to come.
Cultivate creative ambition
BOTTLE THE ACID
My sponsor said “bottle the acid” and I did
I sat back in smug reflection until the plumbing backed up
I grabbed the fast solution and poured it down the drain.
My sponsor smiled as I learned —-
The baser things will eat my life away too.
I can never just decant power and expect it to clean sweep
The clogged pathways in my recovery.
Sloshing caustic medicine into open orifices brought me here
I long for the ease of a liquid resolution
In the end, I must clean the pipes myself.
The traps are simpler to cleanse the less I’ve lied
Telling myself I don’t have to get my hands
Or heart dirty is the biggest lie of all.