We fell from Heaven
And struck every branch
On the way down.
The impact left a crater,
Half the diameter of a New England town.
With no direction I dream
Of rambling on.
Lucidly waking, scrambling for
Planes, trains, or bus.
Filling my hiking bag, hand encompassing a compass.
Walking down the concrete
At the witching hour’s peak.
Heavy with twilight.
The rain for the day
Has lifted and the air is warm.
I float down the concrete.
Biting on an apple,
The previous night.
Condos on Front Street;
Financed by taxed poker winnings.
I walk a landscape
Of glass, concrete, grass, and
Raspberries by the carton.
It’s ill education
It’s the pursuit of satisfaction
Comparing cash value
To the subjective flow of time.
Take a chance and
Roll the bones.
Don’t let it build
Until it bursts.
Mow the lawn,
Water the garden,
Get your hair cut,
Sip Lillet Blanc from a chilled cup.
Allow alcohol to touch your lips,
Don’t let it be the reason they move.
Heavy influence of substances
Stops the thought process.
Heavy influence of caffeine
Keeps me keen.
Write a horrid mass of
Marble-bag words and splatter plots.
They say only the strong survive!
Looking around this room,
I can tell that is certainly the case.
A mighty tree has come crashing down
The whole forest heard it fall.
“Do you think it’s the apocalypse?”
“You mean right this minute, or in general?”
I have never been asked this question
With such earnest,
From a sane, pragmatic individual.
Sane, in the sense he has made money.
Sane, in the sense he has children.
Sane, in the sense I trust him not to become incarcerated.
Is this pragmatic thinking?