no where near the 24th hour even though
my hand shakes jittery. pen drawing right
to left, hand of the uncertain quivering.
i focus a bit too much and found this self set
unnerved after having been awake far longer
than i tend to make usual.
     (plenty are the unusual in this
          the current long dark)
so much longer than usual that i've resorted
to gin and orange juice, and it's been a long
while since such this encounter. perhaps
my rhythm is lost, perhaps this is my path in
life for the time being, perhaps eternity will
find me answered.
     (and in a new year the days
          grow longer once again)
and losing track of the hours, of the days,
when the greater portion of time is spent in
silence. but, in truth and whole, i never
failed to miss the unexpected moments that
interloped. and i rummage through the past
of yellowing notebooks - those coffee stained
and warped yet the words never bled. words
expressing thinking, drinking, and some
hazy hallucinations. of how a trio was
able to remove the world from me. and it was
fine. no real panic, deifiers only want to trim
a little fat. and these just happen to be my
scrawny days.
     (for the flesh lusteth against
                   the Spirit,
      and the Spirit again the flesh)
and it's awkward to attempt an explanation of
how i watch the static ripple across the ceiling.
after a few days, the eyes begin to desensitize
of the weather. after a few days, there is no
longer a sleep pattern; all that's left is to
become biphasic. and after these few days,
how is better to explain an inexpressible
than with words i don't quite understand?