into the night

sometimes when i write, i say nonsensical things like “into the night”. what in the world does that mean? i say ‘why do things have to have meaning all the time?’ why can’t things just not make sense sometimes? we can recapture our childhood by grabbing hold to the ridiculous, the absurd, the silly stuff of life. for example, when i am being conscious i find that i am being absurd.

as i write now i am extremely tired. i must resume regular consumption of my meds. i have not taken any this month and the last dose i remember was around the time i was in brown county in late March. that’s not good. so now i feel tired and weak and listless every evening, usually around 6 or 7 pm. it is as if my clock starts winding down 12 hours exactly to when i awake to start my day.

and i’m forgetting things. surrealistic. i almost forgot that i had a 9 am meeting with a volunteer this am. at  8 am i was seated in my prayer room, talking to God like always, without a care in the world. granted, that is how it’s s supposed to be, but i will be the first to admit that sometimes the pressures of the day weighs so heavy that i succumb to it and abandon happiness. my one true love. poetry.

i’m fickle. tis true.

and i got no real poem tonight unless what i wrote tonight is poetry in a different format…

KFC has chicken
you will have to order ahead
we have no dark meat

if only i could
exhaust imagination
on things that matter

can you spare a dime
you there behind the glasses
help some hungry folk

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