hunger

Poem #151 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction


the stranger was lost
anyone could see that

everyone could see that

it was
almost amusing
to watch him lurch
and stumble

approaching people
one after another
to ask

where am I

what’s happening
to me

being touched
ritually
by each new person
in turn

ohhh

said one

mmm

another

at each contact
a little more unsteady

a little more
lost

a lot more
bewildered

ritual touching
by each new person
in turn

who then stood
a little straighter

smiled
a little easier

laughed
the laughter
of release

all of them
somehow a little
fuller
after the contact

the stranger
less
more lost

when he had given
all he had

when he was totally
demented

he collapsed
breathing as though
in a fever

knowing nothing

knowing only
he did not want
to be touched
anymore


© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #152: chiaroscuro thinking

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