Stilted talk, stiff walk...a word per step taken,
moving from here to there too much of an effort,
yet talking, but not saying
Maybe I should just think it...
But barren brain is my usual state
where thoughts become stale and dry
Blown away by the next gust of wonder
the next impulse for pleasure:
food, sex, or drink.
How can you capture the moment
Fluid as they all are, fast as they pour by
when my hand is the place
where wine glasses go to die?
Maybe I should just drink from the bottle,
water or wine transformed Christ-like
forced flow like a fire hose
Soaked I stagger forward dripping with
life realizing that I am my only container
standing groom next to ephemeral bride
Mouthing words to shape the future
imagining each separate incident
as joyful, rich, textured things.
I reach forward, steadily holding
a ghostly, vanishing finger. Placing on it
a gold, diamond ring.