You wait for nothing. Patient
like the prairie enduring the burning.
I could be you.
You
could be me.
I practice the burbling gurgle
I'll use in my senility
dream of warm sheets
wet with my own *****.
Your stillness has already encompassed
my penultimate fervor.
Schizophreniacs often rhyme
because they have the time.
A dime used to buy a line
from me to you
but you don't answer the phone anymore
so I don't think I'll call.

Hard work accomplished your Nirvana.
Your casual grace sanctifies the electrodes,
you become guiless God of the wires
and I race with myself
trying to catch up to my own possibilities.
It just comes naturally to some.