Perversity in D minor

In those dreams where everything is as clear as if we were all wearing corrective lenses, all that you want to be is simple to accomplish. You make a left on Round Lake and there you are to the right, a bright blue house with a large lawn sign that says “We Are Alive.” We make things complicated, talking ourselves out of joy and mastery; experience happens only when you stick around. If you are feeling like the days slip you by without anything extraordinary to divert your attention then you are not alone; this happens to the majority of people that eat bread. Also, that sensation of sand slipping through your fingers is nothing but fleeting, it will be replaced by the feeling of waiting room anxiety. Waiting to die, waiting to tell it out so the legacy of regret and misconception is not lost once the body goes and it goes. I don’t write anymore, time is precious but so is this that I do, so is the game of words and magnetic poetry in my head stuck to the door of what’s left of my creativity. And, the last time I had a daydream you were there waiting for me to drive over five hundred miles to have some beers. In recovery, of everything that felt good, for twenty minutes or twenty years. Even cigarettes.