It’s quarter to midnight for the cigarette I burn
and pure dawn of a psychedelic, Sunday-like Tuesday
unfolding on empty scaffolds
around half-buildings downtown
for which construction is suspended
until life resumes tomorrow with the gut-filled, drunk, and happy souls
returning to the mundaneness of their work.
Work that doesn’t end,
ever,
but keeps on going and keeps time going on in one general direction.
Forward.
Like a shot from a cannon out at sea at nothing, and no one watching, and no one to hear, but only an energy propelling forward.
Like a mother. Always forward.
It goes, somehow
against the general current and waves,
against the ever dissipating entropic energy
seemingly for some reason,
for some purpose.
It’s happening and it’s being done.
I think of stray dogs insanely barking at the wheels of cars, keeping at it, on a Godly golden day like this one.
A day to sail.
But I sit and wait for the moon.
I sin against time, idling, drowning in the loneliness of my knowing.
It’s all a sea, a humdrum dream of hopes and fears undulating infinitely under galleys and skiffs rowing rudderless.
No comments
