my orbit

It often seems
I'm going nowhere,
though other times
I'm zooming
and there's no contradiction there

It's an old dance
and through the amnesia,
I know it well:
different phases,
asteroids,
and minor pulls

Pulls:
the pull of poetry,
the pull of the news,
the charming girl and her cleavage,
family,
politics and philosophy,
comraderie and loyalty,
the future and the past,
the desert and the sea

And I'm pulled
by them all into one another:
the good times
and the bad times,
and the times
I don't understand

I sure hope
something changes,
because I want to go places...
but lately
I feel more and more
like cold, dead rock