I have come to the conclusion that I fire on six cylinders.
The issue is that I am an eight cylinder man.
I can’t remember the last time I was firing on all of them.
They aren’t knocking yet, but it’s just a matter of time. There’s a lot of miles, hard ones, on the odometer.
It’s a wonder six are still firing. It makes it rather miraculous that I can make it through the day, let alone accomplish anything.
It seems I am pulling off on the side of the road to doze more often now. My mind knows where to go. I am just so tired and it takes so much fuel to figure out how to get there.
Others race by. Their exhaust exhausts me. Death is the end to this race. Why try to get there quicker?
Elegiac grips me until my mind spins.
Lethargy holds me down.
I am captured between the two, racing, yet going nowhere.
I am a six cylinder body with an eight cylinder mind.
Come close and you will catch the faint scent of burnt oil.
the body changes
expands or contracts
crevices wrought by
the river of time
beauty is more than
it just moves to a
where it resides
shining out from your eyes and your beautiful face
Maturity and innocence, wisdom and experience, meet before the God of spontaneity
The old man and the child hold a conversation within me and I am the topic, naturally
What is today without the future?
What is the future without today?
If we survive the next millennium,
What will the doomsday prophets say?
I live too much within myself.
I am never where I want to be
Or where you want me
I think I know,
But then I run far,
Far away from me.
The world no longer stops me
It is always a blur
The only frozen moments are the
Pictures in my head on the mantle of my mind,
Glazed around the edges to obscure the details.
I seldom give a straight answer because the life I see is crooked.
Disjointed, yet still talking, these two
Sitting on a park bench holding hands.