I’m lashed to the waterwheel <br />of a Mississippi riverboat, <br />My lover, my friends, my family <br />are up on the riverbank waving <br />But I am focused on holding my breath <br />through the nonstop dunkings. <br />I cannot remember it not being like this. <br /> <br />Don Juan told Carlos Casteneda <br />to “find his place” on the <br />porch of the old farmhouse, <br />And Carlos stayed up all night rolling <br />around on the porch searching for his place. <br />I am continuously rolling and careening <br />through the days, changing lanes, <br />weaving through endless traffic, <br />holding my breath, seeking my place <br />on the porch, sometimes finding <br />a glimpse of it, only to feel it fade <br />back into the soundscape of car horns, <br />whistles, barking dogs, and the minor <br />pentatonic tones of the blues scale.<br /><br />Michael Philips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rolling-around/
