Wandering the city lost,
it could be this city or another,
searching
for meaning.
At night I can't sleep,
sleepwalking throughout the day.
Sometimes it is the the warmth from coffee,
heat from the cup is
the thing that makes me know I'm alive
like cut skin or a woman's softness rubbing on my skin,
sensations that say
I feel, I'm real
I must be here.
Yet where is here?
No wonder people smoke
to pass time
feel warmth
see it all go up in smoke
like our existence...
hazy.
This is what it seems like to go on & on
like Sinclair's Babbit,
mechanical clock or robot
working , working, working some brain-less job to pay the bills,
sleeping, fucking, drinking, eating, shiting, bleeding, loving, loosing,
and on and on it goes.
Should I expect more?
I wanted the sun,
the stars,
the universe.
All I have is the morning walk to the bus stop
a cup of coffee and
an occassional fuck or love affair,
and I can't keep this up to I'm 40 or 50 or 60,
it's like someone who stops using their body-- atraphy--
that is how my mind and heart feels.
I need intense real connections, deep conversations, helping others,love &
close stable interactions & passionate loving touch & energetic creative work, a purpose or
this dream will end
exactly as it is now...
dull as a old rusty unsharpened knife.