david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

nothing

no comment

I know nothing––

I have lived in its house for many years.

I have floated in its starless infinite liquid black ink with no compass and

no clue where I might be drifting, or if I am in motion at all.

I know nothing––

its sense of humor at unlikely times,

it’s sudden bursts of brilliance and peace,

its terors and night-sweats and lack of light that is darker then space,

darkness-beyond-darkness that takes you to the highway in the rain,

makes you want to live again,

makes you want to roll the dice with your one last gasp,

your last arbitrary wish, your last lucky penny,

roll the dice as you are falling

even if you may never see them land,

or know if they’ll come up lucky 7, or snake-eyes, or craps,

even if you know you may never know

anything.

dj

11-7-15

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