When I’m lost,
I mean really {fuckin'} lost...
Unsure about whatever I’m doing or where I’m going or where this is leading in a narrative sense,
and one of those thoughts
peers through the cracks and waves
HELLO!
demanding attention in a friendly but firm demeanor,
words find their way across my eyes
dancing into my belly and lighting up the spinal nerves
like a state fair “test your strength” sledgehammer.
An old song slaps me in the ears and across the face,
calling out in sweet familiar melodies:
“Hurry up! You’re gonna be dead soon anyway.”
My weakness (earlier I justified it) feels wasteful, ungrateful, unwarranted
like a teenage sadness
or a child’s tantrum.
A harsh wind reminds me of the time ripping by,
taking with it
every missed opportunity,
every stinging failure,
every fading memory,
and I choose to look onward
in whatever direction
I can.
