i came to write after this white night,
your music guides me on my habitual path
Friday, 6 AM:
I haven't woken up again since
Thursday, 7 Early Rise:
dawn and musical eyes.
I came to write and now I
back away, my
asleep while awake,
to the ground and shake,
so you'll relate.
when i stop walking my muses fail me,
who knew so many of us are wide awake and walking the streets at this ungodly hour on this awkward Friday morning!
The sounds of garbage trucks interfere with my music
the smells interfere with my breath
i p a u s e my inhale
another unrested soul walks by, coughs
i'm bare like i thought these streets were
empty like these taxis, searching for
customers to please
drivers searching for ears to listen
for heads to nod
search for reason in my logic, search
for knowledge in my deepest fears, for
answers in the words i clumsily exhale through this ink
at the most inconvenient of times.
it's a curse!, this gift!, it's unbearably beautiful!, it's
a pleasant curse,
cures on account of sleep and causes deprivation
s k i p p i n g h e a r t b e a t s
the planes above fly their dizzy dance, exist in a foreign plane,
exist in a space with no time, a place like an airport
which knows to p a u s e lives, to
be a crossway between the old and
the new, the simple
past, the present
progressive, the conditional
you must be way high up there, in one of them
peering through as part of one of these cumulus clouds
i wave like your tradition, honor your
p a u s e d existence
i used to love airports
used to thrive on seeing humanity revealed raw:
people exposing their loves, their
now all i keep thinking of is:
p a u s e.
i hold my breath, this
smell is contagious, is
dangerous like time's existence, cancerous
like the ocean's depths.
and if we meet again:
will you hear my music, will you
lead me with yours?
you bow and arrow beautiful words my way
(fantastic fantasies' building blocks)
and let them rumble
crumble in an earthquake
of my wanderings and doubtful muses