Keep Moving Whatever Keeps You Moving

My friend is driving through Little Ethiopia and he wants a beer. I’m cutting my fingernails and trying to hide from the sun. Music is coming out of my computer and a dog is taking a shit on the lawn. The city is melting second by second but so slowly that I won’t ever get to see the flood. I’ve got to keep moving my fingers over the keyboard or I might stop breathing. Words are lungs. Watch them expand and collapse. Just like love. Everything ends.

I’m going to an engagement party tonight and it’s beach-themed, so I’m wearing my scuba gear. Where’d you run off to when I was putting on my fins? Didn’t you know I come with a warranty and so when you’re through breaking me you can take me back?

I’m drunk at the Snake Pit and Melrose Blvd. is too dangerous to run across so I might move in here. I might just dig a hole underneath this table and bury myself. I walk outside anyway and the breeze takes me back to days when I wore sandals and danced on beat. We were left alone on the beach and as the tide came in we kissed. The tide swept us away and we hooneymooned in Japan. You are my little ninja. Chopping me down with your karate kick.

The bells clang.
The hallway’s cleared.
The aliens made clearings in the crops.
I stand in the lighthouse, 
looking for shipwrecks
on rocky outcrops.

A name is lost, a name that never was.
Singing the lyrics we never thought of.

Open the window so when your house catches on fire you have a place to jump through. We played Mrs. Pac Man and wondered what high score we could get, following the dots and eating the ghosts. I watched the church burn down while you twirled around in the street. The years added up in calories, making sand castles using small yogurt cups. Life was full of technicolor and mystery. I was the king of the sand castle until the breeze blew it away. 

Next door I hear my neighbor making some food. It’s almost four in the morning.

Across the street a light just went out. Someone is going to bed.

If we string along our good days, those wonderful pearls we’re fortunate enough to find along the way, will it be enough to make a necklace? Will you wear your good days everywhere you go? Or only on special occasions?

I’m sleeping off another night of poetic wandering. I swung this way and that, bobbing and dipping on my streams of consciousness. My little light water craft so tiny and invisible against the waves. Somehow I always make it back to shore the next day, with drool attached to my pillow. Seaweed in my bed, a diving bell on my head. Somehow I never get lost at sea, even though my compass is broken and the sails are torn.

If you got to chose in which manner your undoing would unfold, would it be brilliant and spectacular? James Dean gong over the cliff? Or simple and tedious? Like showing up everyday for work and earning a pension?

I get up and get another beer from the fridge. It is night. It is day. I look at a photograph. It was taken right before I wrote this. I have a smile on my face like I know exactly what I’m about to say.

I’ve never been a good liar.

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