Casey Gilfillan

It is like stepping into an opaque spotlight,
Void of illumination. Concealed in
The darkness of this curtain, much is left behind.
I am so good at not feeling, just being.
I do, I am, in the fleeting momentary.

Only the fundamental elements
Will carry forward. Old memories,
Unchangeable habits, traumas – nothing else can fit.
Here, I find solace in the quieting;
I find myself pure of thought and mindful in my wandering

Until they pull me from this slumber of sentiment,
Rousing me to sudden and fearful analysis of
The world before me. But how do I feel,
What must I think! Except, it is never anything
Anything important, they never talk

Of any importance. It is commonality,
Etiquette, trend, parochial attachment to value.
It bores, it maddens, and then stuns when it is
My turn to speak. Well, what does one say to
Such a thing? The words expose me for what

I am not, forgive the absurdity of
Assigning a part for which I have no script.
Let me alone, back into the growing
Shadow of myself; back into the numbing
Cloak of daily life.