The Man Who Turned 

Himself into a Chair

What’s to be done

when a man

you thought you 

knew well

turns himself

into a chair?

Seriously.

A chair 

as colorless

and flavorless 

and tepid as

a Dixie cup

of stale

tap water.

For that matter

what if a man

turns himself 

into a cup 

and places himself

on the shelf

upside down,

for no 

better reason

than to hold nothing

at the expense of

everything.

One could argue

that a chair has its uses

and everything 

has its place,

however that doesn't

explain why I keep

rearranging my furniture

for no other reason

than to see 

the same old

things anew.

Do inanimate objects

matter enough

to sacrifice our souls

to maintain

a sense of order?

Then, God give me

a delicate chaos

I can 

navigate

with my

heart.

Sometimes I feel

the need to sit

or lie down in 

a part of a room

I’ve never sat or lied

down in before

just to escape

the stranglehold

of an everyday

addiction

that offers 

no further

high.

Have I

now become

a cornered animal

petrified of taking 

the world for granted

for fear of

breeding contempt

for both

myself and others?

Like or unlike 

the chair

I trace and retrace

my steps

day in and day out,

as desperate

for assurance 

that I not become 

a creature of habit,

that in fact

the smallest repetition

of my most

 insignificant act

not atrophy into

rigor mortis

whereby

he that sits

and he that 

is seated

no longer 

qualify for

a deity. 

Peter Valentyne

October 13th, 2020