I confess I always found
Any attempt at true contact
Rather anxiety-provoking

(Not that I could not
Camouflage that pretty well)

Never had much tolerance
For fatuous role play

In later years however
The problem has lessened

It’s not that I cured the anxiety
But that I so rarely encounter
Anyone who is capable of contact

Even should I feel the desire

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on August 1, 2015, in Prose With Pretensions and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

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