haiku

Water forms still life

fins caress wave

round eye departs, the fish descends

a bar

It is morning and my breath is catching in nebulous spider workings before my face. I find myself colliding with them, driven forward into the proof that I am alive by my breakneck pace, my jerking gait, plowing myself into the workings of a city.

We passed the threshold six minutes to ten (Add four to six and you get ten) The door shut behind us. Space shrinking shrinking then closed, no more open door as though we had never turned the knob. As though we had never been there.

Now we are slipping down the gullet of the pub, the one we chose randomly from the street. I was searching for an interior drenched in smoke. Not precisely like where I am, but almost.

At this time we are acquiring frothy half spilled over drinks, mulled and shaken. They are presented at our table and then poured forth to starving hearts and for the cause of future induced merriment.

It was reducing my heart to fit the current circumstances, struggling to choke it down along with the froth, the yeast, the alcohol. My heart going down in a tumbler of mead

amber cast in oxygen

encapsulated in tenuous strands

immersed in dizziness solution

categorized for the scientific intake.

I need

I need somewhere to put some writing that has been sitting

sitting somewhere on a shelf that belongs to me.

Most of it is just little snippets, teaspoons, that need to be poured upon an internet shuffleboard and sent about to people people people

because I'm lonely here. where. I. am.