Enough
i have a self imposed deadline that i keep missing, extending and missing again as other things come up and it gets bumped. Even with unexpected time opened up in today’s schedule, i didn’t get to it. it’s been eluding me…
Funny how that happens…
Below this week’s pub drawings is a stream on the word enough. i’ve streamed on enough before but apparently it wasn’t…
And that was it, i stopped.
Paused, broke a rule of streaming, i hadn’t completed even 5 minutes today.
And then…
just more thoughts on when humans will have had enough of other humans reacting out of fear of not enough leading to dominating others.
i’m tired of sides, binary, polarized reactions without nuance to understand the intricacies of histories, needs, converging diverging narratives.
Where is the ability to connect to become intimate and know something such that we find common humanity, a need for all, for enough?
Thanks for reading if you made it this far- feeling rusty, sharing it anyway.
i was going to link to the earlier stream on enough but realized it was from day 88 and that was before i was using this blog. i’ll have to return when there is time enough.
i wonder, what’s your story with enough?
Love the pub drawings! Good questions… enough never is.
An old poem titled “Enough”
Enough
Sex, is like a near-death experience,
or so they tell me. I’ve never had any,
near-death experiences that is.
Although, I’ve been told that afterwards,
what seemed so urgent just moments
earlier, is suddenly not so important,
and one’s priorities undergo a shift,
at least for a while. Hours, days, weeks,
(it’s different for everyone). But sex,
so far as we know, for most of us
occurs with greater frequency, coupling
and uncoupling, tankers and box cars
banging behind a steamy, steel-bellied
beast on iron wheels, carrying its load
of coal-stoked hellfire, and hauling ass,
a seemingly endless freight train of want.
A waiting pick-up, stopped at the crossing
gate, high beams shine between couplings,
over the low, soot-black sides and hollow
rumble of empty gondolas, numbered
like so many waiting coffins…
and always, in the end,
only one caboose.
But who’s counting? Enough
never is.
David, Gorgeous poem, funny, moving, great imagery, love it! Thank you, i appreciate your sharing it. What fun to find this as i return to make a new post. (something is up with my notification apologies for not responding sooner)