10:04

That Eureka moment.
An E day. Eggs, Ecclet, Espresso.

I wrote a poem…
She’d say that. I’m sure it was great in her head. Eyes glazed. Face drooping. So, so stuck. Sadness strikes me. I know what rain is. No wain, only pain in those eyes. Untasted salt, I hold back at the gates.
Close as I am to feeling. Sorrow and sadness. Aliteration for attention.
A ducks quack, in the storm. A cyclonic feeling inside and out. The storm dissipates, but wars within. Stillness out, turmoil in.
I’m breathing still. Beating down on the iron roof. Remembering memories. Experiencing them for longer than the moment they were. Memory over and over again. Stuck on it. Like its the same wave crashing into a barricade. And my eyes run. Because my legs can’t take me from this. The moment has passed and I have nothing to give it but my thought. My writing shows the ebbing, the wineglass- blood red, salt water. Pristine thoughts no longer.
And I wrote you a poem. And it says to keep smiling, and loving people honestly, having energy and caring and talking and sharing. But you cant. You just cant. There is nothing to give you. I am the water in a wooden coffin. A babushka, missing a vital piece. Halved and halved again. My heart, middle seams are cut.

“how can I embrace the times?” I want to be the most normal individual. But all I see are boundaries. No freedom, working only. Eating, blind and blonde. Toothless, careless post post post it all. Nothing is going in.
Not one thing is going on. Brian and I lay down together, I miss the world. Going on outside and around me. And you’ve passed, and I know what the weather is and its not event as such but the waters aren’t drunk by straw, they aren’t saved or loved anymore. My nose fills. I self harm. Swiss swiss swiss. Train tracks to no-place. And a race against time, stuck, suctioned to an instant and all of the unanswered questions. Things taken to the grave. The image of sea-sickness on the boat. The restless mornings. All the things I have to do. And me trying to escape it, trying to wreck the memory. Brian’s black eyes penetrate, menace me. Obliterate.

My rush. Eureka. E day. F day tomorrow. What will be my F word? and all this F work. all the F things that strike me at my heart. The forgotten fun, the release, “how do I do this, how do I do this, how do I do this”. And its obvious. And I can’t read the book, I can’t find the book, I can’t buy things to make it better. And the memory sticks. And i’m suctioned to the spot. Worthless metal, and medals and memories hang around my neck. Bert and Ernie fish for birds spearing fish on hooks with looks of chargrin and sadness. Only glad, moderation makes it so I don’t catch them all. “here fishy fishy fishy thoughts”. Rotten sea water swills in the bottom of the boat. And my voice is rusted. Rushide’s shadow at the oars sarcastically mouthing something. I reply: “Ark Ark”. Seals clap, thunder claps overhead and it rains again.

Its quiet again.
I told Zia what to do in Haiku. She used the word UNWIELDY, she’d had too much coffee. Comatose diagnose the gaze. The gay life of it all. Groups of friends, travelling and sharkedly following your nose. Trying on as many scents as you can. Edamame and the nudity of it. Peace cannot be attained in our current state. No darkness, nothing eternal. Not so E.
In its stead we’re stuck on decisions and thoughts and B-waves and A-waves. lapping it all in, lapping it all up, seriously considering going back on the internalized promises. “hey you walked past before and I just thought to say you’re really good looking”. The look. The two eyes. And the cyclops, single minds eye. Focus and locks. And jaws and tongues and the high bar are nothing. Olympic rings, and trinity. No testing any more, decimate, deconstruct, destroy. I esteem, estimate and fluctuate. I give my poor father nothing, and he tries. And my mood sinks into despair for everyone and everything to come. The people I surround myself with, the conversations, the shallowness, its all for nothing, I can’t pick myself up out of this. I don’t place value in it. I’m shallow, and i’m unwilling to drink myself out of this glass. Thumbnail depths, and i’d rather breath the shot in and wait for it to burn my inner lining.

We circle one another. Naval, nasal and fog. The ships. Horns blurt and echo into the night. Looking looking looking into your eye, so close. lips, breath shared. Cared for post post post. Post human, anger. Fierce individual. Callus desire. Rage and rhapsody. Tribe of past. My hairs stand on end. My tonsils require replacement. My mind is raped for consequences. If I could i’d pull down the walls, the roof, the moon and the stars. Cover me in books, and briar. Light me on fire under a twinkling bedsheet. Arms spread like the crucified. In every image: happy or sad always pretending. Wishing to just, just be entertained. Shared. Rex of fur and reciprocated. Instead failing, falling forgotten by times telling. Assassinated.

And there is no moment. Just before, during and after. Inside and outside of time. The cell, the celestial cycle. Royal and degraded. Plus or else. Otherwise – a scrambling, shambling horror. Honorary otter. Other to the humanist. Twitching twisting lyric. Music of metaphoric. DJ. Me. Meth. Metamorphic method. Loaded with thoughtfulemotions. Potions, elixirs. People together and the right mix, laying or lying in bed together listening to the people downstairs having sex. Me wanting you, sickly loving everyone attached to the moment. I comment, it was a throw away, a release that they down stairs will similarly explore and experience momentarily. I am a cyclops. Holding you as spoons do. Smelling your straw hair. I’m in a large shirt and hesitant because of the comfort. Its a basic restriction. A pushing, grating. Grinding of teeth, livable, loved un-comfort. The self oppressed. I never knew it was like this. I will do otherwise now.

Run to work, always and that’s the beginning of it all.
I forgot who I was, forgive me.
patterns of life. Exercise and cycles of best fit.
Fitness for everything.

And the book I wrote? The sound it made when I opened, closed or dropped it… THUNK.

Enjoy the weekend.
Take a smile and a poncho-
wherever you go!

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