The smoke hangs in the air,
Like a white cloud,
Effortlessly,
Swimming across the room,
Knitting an atmosphere of its own;
It swirls around,
And whirls this head,
With thoughts crawling forward,
In a singular line tonight,
So slow and steady;
But, the threads are somehow broken,
Filled with random voids;
Every now and then,
I snatch one from the line,
And stay with it,
Or, it stays with me,
Until we both become aware of each other’s
Presence, existence;
And then, it disappears calmly,
Into the random void;
The senses become sharper,
In sync with the higher wavelengths,
All in the grasp, temporarily, but I don’t go,
I want to stay down here tonight,
Nitpick my thoughts, one at a time,
And stay with them,
Or, they stay with me,
Just play this game all night long,
Until it all wears off,
I dumb myself down to my ordinary state,
So the invariable fall wouldn’t be so steep…
The kind of writing that shows up uninvited, barefoot, at 3 a.m.
