Productivity: A Tramp


Productivity: a Tramp (Listen to it here: Productivity: A Tramp)

So Productivity was there for a moment, and for some reason I think that’s my goal day in and day out. To produce. But now, it eludes me as if I never really held it in my hands at all. As if it allowed me to think I knew its name and held its leash; that my commands were its desire. What a rascally, wily thing it is lulling me into a sleepy sense of submission to its whims instead of my own.

Out it goes 
across the path 
into the woods. 
I saw its tail 
brush the bark 
of that tree there 
in the shade. 
The warm comfort 
of my seat 
feels pricked 
with unease 
as I move 
from it and 
out the door. 

My shoes are wrong. 
Slippers. 
The common footwear 
of the writer 
in winter. 
Goulashes are wetter
and much better 
fitted for the task at hand. 
Oh, but the time it takes 
to prepare 
for such a hunt 
is miserably gargantuan 
with all the stuff 
of proper suiting goes. 
But hang it on 
and don it well 
for into the woods 
the chase will go. 
It always goes in there.

Like the time it found a hole. 
How droll
it thought itself to hide 
and obfuscate 
in leaves 
and mud 
and shadow 
of the deep parts of my mind, 
chuckling 
in its rhythmic breathing 
all the while believing 
I never go there anymore. 
But that’s exactly 
where I chose
to look 
this lucky time 
of mine. 

It was 
in that crouching 
and sneaking 
under the low branches
of memories 
dusty and damp 
that I first knew 
I was on the right track. 
That tramp. 

There in the corner 
of the eye 
of that thought 
was the slightest glint
of shimmer. 
And too, 
embedded 
in the soggy breeze
was a scent 
I knew full well
and so out I reached
my hand 
and yanked 
and grabbed. 
My fist was bound 
around the tail
I said I saw today
and so I pulled 
and loaded 
up my arms 
with all the fluff 
and snarls 
and charms of it. 
I brought it home with me 
and cooked it up for supper. 

Ha!       Productivity,    I     am     thy     master!

That’s the song I sang
that day 
in a nasally sort of rhyme
and slanky beat
of nothing more 
than captured thoughts 
boiled up and served. 

It has a way of creeping 
out of the pot 
and sliding 
across the floor 
out the door 
to its place 
of freedom once more. 
It does that. 
That tramp. 

So on the path again 
to seek and find, 
to hope and hop 
along the hidden trails 
of inner thoughts. 
All of its usual places 
of shaded spaces 
it isn’t 
or it wasn’t. 
Today it must have 
reinvigorated energies 
that give it gusto 
and cover its tracks. 

The search is long 
        and long 
                  and lengthy 
and the footprints 
I see 
are all my own. 
In circles 
I spin 
and sit down again, 
but not in my chair this time, 
in mud.

Cold 
and slippery 
dark soil 
and leaves 
and goes 
the light 
from my thoughts. 
Where else to look? 
Down 
and on the ground 
is where my eyes 
turn around 
and peer up to see 
the filtering of the day 
falling through the tumbles 
of limbs and layers: 
light. 

Suctioned up 
to higher elevations 
I stand; 
my feet 
find 
their footing 
underneath. 

And in my muddy hand 
I feel a soft 
and furry friend 
holding tight… 
to me. 

So home 
we go together 
this time 
through the paths 
of thoughts and mind 
to find my chair 
and write the story 
of finding Productivity, 

my tramp.

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