An act of despair

I fled. I walked. I got onto the bus. Out of the city and into another I was there. I was slowing down. I was back. I was in the back of the bar, “hey slim”, ha I laughed, it was an old friend, and it took me back, to the past, to the rain drops and broken windows, to the snow, to the past; it took me back, back to the landing strip, back away and towards the first time, and one of them is always there to pick me up, always there to save my ass when I run out of courage. Ah hell there’s no time to think about this now, I’m dying, I know it, and it’s so odd, to know and feel that you’re dying but pressing on with the way that you’re living. It’s an act of desperation like that old physicist said, and I’m ready to throw away everything that I know; love laughter, joy sin, karma, joy, the sun, the space in-between, everything that I’ve learned and studied and been given a degree in the support of my knowing, and this, so now, and for the record, I’m not a good traveler. I always get lost. I always end up drinking way too much. I always end up being startled, but sometimes, I have a moment of clarity and life comes to me, something, and I’m not sure what that something is, just life, ah life, and for no reason at all I feel sure of myself even though I shouldn’t  because I have nothing, have gotten nowhere, only been somewhere, walked around, and I shouldn’t act like some great writer, because I’m nobody, because I didn’t learn anything, not one damn thing, but for some reason and once and a while something makes sense, and what that is, that something, a timed process, has something to do with the music of thought, and once in a while this is what gives me life, and if only for a second, it is that something that most people can only dream about.