& these impatient hours I sit through
don't seem much like mine at all
The chair was made to be comforting
so that I might sink into it quite easily
and so there would be no need to add
any ligature-straps or electric currencies
to hold me here or render my heart still
But somehow the chair seems more like
it has been wedged up my keystare
blocking my bowels from going with my gut
and purging myself of all the emptiness
that these impatient hours force-feed me
I could push the chair away
or take time off or out of this
but I'd have to stand on my own
and answer these impatient hours
& others that never cease to ask
questions I can't readily satisfy
As I sit through these impatient hours
they keep urging me to more than answer
as these hours are stuck here with me
and they can't stand stagnation either
But my legs have long-ago gone numb
under the weight of my stagnant keystare
so that walking away seems harder than
soaring above some storm-stained sky
As I sit through these impatient hours
I wonder through fixed/fragmentary frames
of pseudo-conscious commercial breaks
how patiently I've become so impatient
or how impatiently I can sit here patiently
while these impatient hours keep leaving me
as I continue failing to escape them all this time
Eventually what is left or no longer left of me
may be removed from this wretched recliner
as these impatient hours cease to move me
and I can no longer stand to sit through them
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