The Thinker


He took no notice of them,

those smiling people

standing around 

taking selfies

with him.


I wondered what he was thinking.

He looked thoughtful,

thoughtful, but strained

as though he had a problem,

which made him uncomfortable

as he sat there statuesque with effort.


I touched his foot,

I felt his tension

and I knew then

that it was thinking 

that was his problem.


He knew 

that ideas don’t come when you strain,

they float into your head dreamlike

as you stretch out your arms into infinity

and then leave like a flood of gold

relaxing and relieving you 

when no one’s there 

to watch.


He was striving for that sweet relief, 

that’s what he’s telling me,

I think

therefore I am

still.



https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_animus.html


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