WELL HERE WE GO
Sometimes I feel like a tumbling dice
or some sort of liquid, running just before
the drain - you know, when it eddies and
twirls, sometimes even with that funny noise.
What's that called, the gurgle of drain-water?
Probably has a name, though I don't know it.
So, I stand here, not knowing what to do either.
If I could, maybe I'd dance, but I hate the dance
and always go on against it, yawping and yelling
about how useless it is. What's called sometimes
'Hedonism', others call 'fun.' Maybe 'pleasure.'
-
I don't do much of that, myself. A thrill for me
is going seventy on a big, fast roadway. When
everyone else touches eighty at least. (You see
all these numbers, they fly by, and I throw them
around, as they just get high, or higher anyway).
There's one speed, I seldom reach, when everything
blurs, even the sky, and the whole, round world
starts to seem like a rotating bubble of color.
-
I like to stand firm and observe what's before me,
and you can't, it seems to me, do that at speed.
Essentially, everything adds up by one - at a
time, I mean, a slow accumulation, like a rainwater
puddle filled a drop at a time. Who knows when it
overflows. And then who knows where it ever goes?
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