Constellations were swirling with each breath taken like fireworks but stars were part of the permanent fixture for sky and moon lit path down the canal of darkness- a dance with the possibilities of oceanic utterances sharing a single tide; I was vastly becoming me.
Poets meet up by driving their metaphorical bumper cars around in cyberspace; congruity eventually moves in on the kill like brash seduction, yet the engine of poetry- inspiration just coasts along...it rarely bumps or collides just as schools of fish in having mastered the art of synchronicity and fine tuning.
Is it not enough to light a match to see a spark; when it comes to love? I had to not only go and burn my fingertips but burn the entire house down, while being made to crawl out from underneath the smokey ruins.
If only it was the fly away hair escaping a hair bun, a 1980s bomber jacket with a ticket to a 1990s venue in the side pocket and a duffel sack that dared to make me late.
It was fair to assume there was a fight with time: brooding- the need to protect something deemed precious instead it was me- all the people and places I've hoarded who simply couldn't clear the turnstile.
Department stores no longer play songs that are familiar neigborhoods grown up in are no longer recognizable not to mention all the new news anchors appearing on tv means I'm learning what it is like to be deaf which is akin to taking that first sip of champagne bubble that pours into what's left of your senses and the overflow spurts up through your veins so that taste can be experienced by the brain; thats what its like to hear, otherwise you might be the last to know that your entire world has just changed.