“Open Mic Night Fridays @ 8”
too late for me, sitting here, sipping green tea, trying to simply witness, to fit this brain of mine back behind my eyes. I want to write, but to my left, two ladies chat, forth and back, with high loud voices. I have to hear them, no choice, as their peaks reach me even through my ear phones. If I weren’t so blurry, like the steamed window dripping to my right, I might leave or at least question myself for staying. But, I’ve waited too long already for this place, my seat, this space where if I sit up straight enough, I can see the dinosaur on the wall across from me. I’d call it T-Rex but I’d never be so bold to assume a silhouette could reveal a name, let alone a soul. The French get all the pretty words, don’t they, then give all the pretty words away whether they want to or not. I should have thought twice before I tethered these clouds of mine to a pole and let them drown the whole desert, until water met sky. I’ll still stay dry here, behind this window, blindly winding my watch hands as slow as I possibly can, but still so much faster than time, than the tick. I hate that line, actively, but like the idea well enough, and maybe that enough can be, well, enough for now.
Person Man, Person Man, hit on the head with a frying pan…