intergalactic quibbles & bits

taking a second to take it all in
then spit it out in unrecognizable patterns that we've all seen before
at least once
the shadows of our torments could not hold a candle to this,
the dullness of the day to day
one hour after another marked only by the tiny rivets in between
the half hour mark and the five till
the weariness of my bones, and that muscle I can't quite figure out
how to stretch
across the clearest of blue skies,
my tongue would soar to meet yours in sweet discourse
instead, it's trapped in this wretched body
ensconced in doubt, uncharacteristic of me
and in some ways quite beautiful

an infinite quest for ephemeral splendor
the blighted breath of incubator babies
i am slightly ashamed every time i feel relief
thinking my tumor might be real
and i won't have to deal
with the rest of existence
it's not a veiled cry for help so much as
a catcall to meaning
she grins at me slightly and sways those hips
effortlessly on the horizon
as if to say,
you won't ever attain this
but your desire will pull you through far enough

i know
i know

you can't imbibe that kind of meaning
you can't hard wire your sensory sensibility
the older i get the easier it gets
to wait
cause time is what i have an overabundance of
soon it will run out
chuck my hourglass against the pavement
sand spilling like oil staining our best intentions
as far away from nature as we can stand to be
perfectly manicured
all according to the posted signs

i inhale the illusion of you like oxygen
the memories of a past not had
pictures of an imagined future perfect
lingering like failure often does,
slick and shining
alluring and inviting another thought,
and another until you are swollen with what would appear to be
regret
but i don't have time for such things
my affections seemingly
available for a limited time only

observable patterns would indicate this is the last verse
with the underlying understanding that my fickle tendencies
will not begin or end with you
yet every new beginning implies an ending
we just pray and wish against the odds
possibility as infinite as my inner meandering and gratitude
for those grey-green eyes and nods,
that hold in them the promise of a future worth having