Tock clicks
   As life, and Love,
       Slips

Listen
   To my heart fail
Genuine emotion
   My only hope to prevail

The Swirl
   and Swivel
Of this grisly, grimy
   Theater dribble

As hearts dance
    Together and Apart
Doomed to bitter distance
   From the very start

Strip me of my future endeavors

    Let me live in this present moment

(and both melt away)

I am ugly

    I am putrid

                                        I am beautiful
                                          
                                              I am perfect

My fear that when I love her back, the mist of illusion will fade, and I will be standing with my heart in my outstretched hand, blood dripping to the pavement, just a man.

Open cavity in my chest

Heart thumping wildly in my open palm

Blood splattered on the pavement
                               and my luggage

As I stand at the bus stop

And wait for a ride to the train

The world slides at your receipt
I need to ***, but that brings heat!

Eh. Feel me as I type. The description of which I bring is essential yet nonconsequential. The words spill with unending disregard for the futility of the fingers of which types them. I am to die. No one will read this. What is the purpose of this eccentric divulgence? Man is perpetuating artistic self-indulgence that allows for self, I said SELF, consuming fires.

Such a silly line I throw down for mere enjoyment. I like to hear this rhetoric spill of off my lips. Like a greasy…pig?

Why do we degrade this animal that so closely resembles us? Why do we cast it into the filth and mud to a place that it does not deserve? Arrogance I predict. The pig is not so far from us.

As I sit on this keyboard, depressed, unfulfilled, consumed, and disgusted. With whom? Not the pig, that is ensured. I type with violent disgust of myself and those of which I wish to share my existence.

Truly? Not so. I just want to express what I can with my fingertips. See how they dance and explore the keyboard. There seems to be nothing that holds them back. A vast plethora of subconscious goo for fuel.

Nightfall. A sliver of moon in the sky. The rumbling and tumbling of shouting free spirits toss around the meandering darkness. All that segments this organic manifestation, is an occasional, thump.

At least to the narrator. One ‘blessed’ step at a time. The eternal and everlasting thump of one foot in front of the other. Wonder if my longing and hammered foot travels as Telemachus?

The birds chirp in harmonious rhythm. Odd. Should either chirp with a sway, or be passed out, by now. All us tethered beings should swing with the immortal swing, or so I’m thinking.

Tick, tock. Arabica, slam. Jam with the jittery, immortal jam. Or whatever garb I had been throwing my way. Passed through the ‘wisdom’ of my culture, and greedily accepted by my reward circuity.

One big, machine ‘learner’.

Putting that all behind us, it always leaves a longing soul with gritting teeth.

So there I was. 4 p.m. Caffeine crash can’t even begin to describe it. A ‘crash’ designates a single day. A single face to face relationship with ones decision to kiss and tango with a sacred substance.

I was knee, I say knee, deep, in an affair.

At that point it’s not just some shallow reaction to your mind grasping at some crutch it has designated for a moment.

Not to be dramatic. But habit flows to river real quick.

So there I was. 4 p.m. Tryin to swim.

All I had for a life raft. *****.

Get drunk with my friends. That giddy, pushin others on my level on a weekday, giddy.

Push that bravais lattice, PDE numerical simulation, concentration boundary layer, **** to the side.

I was tryin’ to push MY boundary layer.

Yet here I am. 2 a.m.

Everyone is sleepin’.

All I have for company is my, thump, thump, thump.

On my way to the ocean.

Because God will listen to me Cry, and Scream.