Poem #60

In Praise of Failure

You did not see success,
a surprised shadow
studious in the subjects
specializing in the spectacle of you;

yet, you felt the student’s staring eyes
scouring your lecture for some scrap  of sense
to seize and shove some seconds of sacrifice
into something smart.

Such penetration
predicates paranoia, purposefully
missing miscellaneous mistakes
only for your matters to forcibly meet:

where your calculations lost locations,
such as where you set your keys,
where your combinations created chaos,
the crud collaged on a table,
a cabinet of clamorous clothing,
where your cogitations collapsed,
where you confessed you were confined,
where you crushed to conform to an occupation.

Such rigorous winds
welcome us when we wake:
thus, these prevailing winds sate
off all the prosperity we contemplate.

Whatever wilds wreck what we wrought,
they, they damned catastrophes,
were wheeling with wisdoms,
and they were the tribulations I would want.


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