Stumble

this has
this is
i dont
we just
carefully calculated
navigation
across populated rooms
Save 2 or 3 tasks
for one trip
I can wait
wait
wait
i have to limit
the exposure
wet palms
heart palpitations
limited eye contact
it’s an event
veins wet with adrenaline
straight to the brain
mind racing
mouth dry
tongue numb
focus on the chipped paint
the open window
the ceiling tiles
the wave of air through my fingers
i can feel the eyes
meticulously scanning
for mistakes
for minor imperfections
weakness
visible fear
i smile
not with the eyes
trying not to give myself away
feigning
coolness
effortlessness
while perspiration pools
across my forehead
just until my journey ends
and i am back
in my personal space
escape
survival
of swiveling faces
and glances that melt
survival survival
perceived but not felt
when the storm clears
my eyes walk across the room
up and down the walls
the room has remained untouched
but
it
felt
so
real
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The Wheel

Over time, the magic lessens but you don’t see it for so long. You just don’t realize it until one day you wake up and it occurs to you that this is all there is: life bound to a never ending contract. You trade all your time for resources which you have no TIME to enjoy. It becomes increasingly clear that every day is just another turn on the same small wheel. Hours are time consuming and monotonous. Your life revolves around money. Your existence and your ability to survive is based upon how much you have. You will spend your entire life reliving the same day. Fleeting moments of happiness and laughter slip through your fingers before you even know they’ve ended. You’re always grasping for the next one, but they seem to be sparser each day. We’re here for such a short time. The dinosaurs were here for much longer and they’ve died out so long ago. We’re a blink away from extinction. Once we’re gone, the idea of us will survive for a spec in time. When the idea of us dies, it will be as though we never existed. You worry, stress, hustle, panic, starve, and suffer just to keep the idea of you alive. You struggle just to keep your relationships alive. The thought of dissolving into nothingness is too much to bear. The thought of not being or interacting is difficult to come to terms with. The thought of disconnecting from everything is unbelievable to most. Nothingness is unimaginable. Every idea you’ve ever had, every thought, every interaction, every memory, will cease to exist. Every day we struggle to hang on to a sense of feeling and being, but none of it will matter when we’re gone.

Tap

Words on tap

Sometimes

Word drought on other days

Ideas saturating

pages

A water-rich soil

Fostering growth

Change

Renew reuse recycle

A dictionary rearranged

 

 

Sometimes your head is open

A convertible with the top down

It all comes rushing in

Refreshing

Exhilarating

Sometimes you need to slow down

Before you lose it all

 

Slow the tap before it overfills

Or Rush to get a second glass

Maybe even a third

If you’re not quick enough

You’ll waste it

A drink for the floor

Thoughts for the bin

 

Heading West

The train cajoles itself to a rocky stop … You feel the grinding metal … We exchange bodies … Eyes slowly peer up from pillows and blankets…half-asleep… In less than ten minutes the eyes no longer peer … Just a constant changing of positions for the sake of comfort… Baby whines occasionally … Eyes roll and throats heave vexed sighs … The train shifts, stutters, And shakes clumsily… The air fills with daydreaming and light chatter … Cluttered yet distant…The chatter feeds daydreams with background noise, setting a faraway tone

You aren’t

Through the Spiral staircase

Clairvoyant Coast

 

Melody hummed

Beneath the backdrop

Grasping for a place

In and out of reach

Familiar images cascade

Pictured

Are pleasant times

 

Rewind

 

A deck of cards

Strewn

52 pickup

On memories

Glimmering gleaming

And then fading

Falling in streams before you

 

Ribbons of time

None survive

 

You are

You aren’t

Seeds

One seed falls to the middle of his palm

he can taste the sweetness of apples

as he envisions many trees

gently swaying in a spring breeze

crisp dreamy air

beneath the lush green grass

lively roots that twist and turn

drinking the new rain

bathing in its clarity

the rich soil

cradles the roots

holding the life of the seed

 

he walks up

to the very top of the hill

and smiles as he notices

a green stem emerging from the ground

small and fragile

he thinks about the day he planted it

and what it started out as

just a tiny seed

in his large palm

 

after many seasons and flower blossoms

two years had passed

his plant begins to bear fruit

the fruit starts out as a shade of green

and then transitions

to an unexpected vibrant yellow

 

The man is struck with confusion

he contemplates the characteristics of apples

and the many different types

this is unlike anything he has ever seen

he takes a bite

quickly realizing that the skin is rather thick

he peels it

the inside more tart

than any apple he has tasted

 

he makes a pie of the fruit

it’s no good

it is very tart whichever way he prepares it

the juice is tart as well

he sweetens it

beginning to think about the size of the tree

considerably smaller than that of an apple tree

 

“Maybe this isn’t an apple,” he says

as he drinks the sweetened juice

refreshing

he tries three more glasses

forgetting about the apple orchard

he had often dreamed of

 

sometimes your sail casts you in a new direction

the discovery of the lemon