fixation.
I am schizophrenic,
a sickness.
I walk and walk and walk and walk and
nothing.
The trains leave as soon
as they arrive.
I am but through the station.
Not to stop, but to break the
stale air of waiting with
a burst of oxygen.
quickness and lifting of breath.
but all is past and has become
once more pale and stagnant.
I wish you in Paris, Venice,
in Saigon, in Tokyo.
To sit along the water's edge,
the lip of society, and
to drink of experience.
To become intoxicated by tomorrow
and hung over from yesterday.
To walk and walk and walk and walk (in the
smoke and haze and heat and humidity)
is bile; grotesque & acidic.
I could pass by within minutes
or miles or feet or years of space
and not know the difference of measurement.
But I am hidden, out of sight
and audible consciousness.
I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. Iam.
Iam. iam. iam. iam.iam.iam.iam.
written. June, 2011.
