It Is Now Post Time

My back is out which means the front I usually put up can't stand itself. The stress of equilibrium is a projection that blinds the screen. I can't see what to do. Each project twiddles its opposable thumbs waiting for its moment of truth. I look into my list like someone searching for their keys in a black hole. Do this on the one hand and do that on the other. Then juggle and throw the dice. What comes up, must go down!

Oooh that spasm just painfully reminded me that I am sitting here doing nothing except thinking about what I need to do. I gotta go......

Down River

the need for amusement has never been louder
distance has kissed my footsteps and laid them to rest

I am still, like a prayer, waiting to be devoured by finality
looking up to the heaven that is living down the street

my cries for help have been whispered in translation
and disappear into the dusty shadow of tomorrow’s decay

the other half is less than a speck of forever
this irks my sense of completion and I droop

deep down I am going where oxygen can’t breathe
my short breath expands the lung of necessity

I am pregnant with the expectation of something new
an aloneness that is tied to the idea of companionship

an emptiness that is full of emptiness
a space that I can taste with my closed eyes

a furnace that burns the desire for warmth
filling my room with a cold nostalgia for love

the world mimics my petty discomforts
exploding with fervent mistakes and the friction of opposites

oddly, even rhythm can’t skip to the recorded imperfections
falling down becomes the choreography of optimism

rising up has become the only choice