Ghost In The Machine

That little ache
not so sweet
and a bit dull
until
Oh! Hey!
Ouch!
Moving out of bed,
That little pull
not quite a tear
right behind the
habitual knot in my
solar plexus,
lets me know it's there.
A bit inconvenient,
this finding of a slight
wrinkle in my
human suit,
rather distracting
if you ask me,
from the business
at hand.
I have things to do,
you see.
And none of them
involve
pain or suffering.
Those must be carefully
side-stepped
or even
tip-toed around
so as to
not arouse the beast
demanding payment for
wasted energy
on separatist thoughts
and delusions of
personal control.
And who,
by the way,
is this mysterious "I"
walking around
inside of me,
pretending to have
answers about
nearly everything.
You know the one,
the one who never
stops chattering away
about
woulda
coulda
and their cousin
shoulda.
When I look around for this
character,
hoping to look him in
the whites of his eyes,
he's nowhere to be found.
Just some old tapes
playing over the
tinny louspeaker
in my mind.

Scott Patrick Schwenk 8/20/09