Like a coffee drip from China

I was on the other channel and tripping in. It was okay, I could leave it where I could find it, or catch up to it another day.

Until I thought: not many saviours come this way, I can tell you, the rotten low down skunks, always leaving me to drown like this in the graveyard.

You have to make up your own mind about your hang-ups. If you can’t make your mind up about things you’ll be standing alone in all the turmoil.

But the back door is always open to escape through.

(Keep up you, there in the back)

And your teeth can bite anything, even the hand that feeds you.

It’s kind of never ending, and yet we appear, for our appeal, to come up with something.

Perhaps, existentialism at your touch…

But I never learnt how to sing where the bars held me so tight until I read your face leaning over me.

And then I went wild.

Yes, we are all mad here. Welcome to the party. The mother ship will be here shortly, said another voice among the countless voices.

An excerpt from a holy book zoomed in front of my mind like a coffee drip from China and said: this is whispers washer, at your service.

I decided right there and then, that if I couldn’t get out of here soon I never would, unless the end came to blow me away.

Oh, I am but dust in all the winds that blow, so don’t blame me for anything, I said, in my sing and sew group.

I am also, the thousand pieces that are scattered beneath your smile looking up at you as I breathe in the ether.

I was not sure I was saving myself for something or what, but a 1000 pieces of history passed before my mind as I was roaming in the gloaming.

Yes, I say, a thousand pieces.

Oh, broken I was, as I passed your feet.

I was humbled, as I fled from your presence. I didn’t look back once.

But...

Looking up all the way, I came to see you for a moment that passed too soon.

And then I found myself looked into the history book for a way home and clapping my hands as I ran towards the cardboard city where I fell into a dream, another dream, a kind of imperfect café I was frequenting, and calling it home.
All the parables of the rain of love fell into me, and I let them.

All the love of the world came to me that I called out to.

But there was something more that I was holding out for.

And as I roamed in the spiritual gloaming among all the spiders of doom, I became immune, and crossed myself with many curses.

It was the book I was writing as I fell across the stepping stones. Oh, but oh, how many times can I count to ten while breathing through my nose? Man, I can’t tell you even, though I’ve been there many times.

The next beach that I fell upon came suddenly perfect without a care in the world and wrestled me down onto the sand and began to bite my lip.

Maybe I was in love. And there again, maybe I wasn’t.

But what the hell, when a girl’s got your ear, she’s got your ear.

Am I looked after?

I think I am.

Image from Pixabay

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