Mystical winds blow.
Neighbor tells me alcohol ain’t for him any more. My decision is to fly my bike into the sun. At bars I shall drink water. I shall breathe in secondhand smoke and try to smile. She drinks water, serves otherwise. He calls and without prodding from a single soul, “Weed ain’t my thing these days.” What is happening?
they try to stab me
I step lightly
maybe I’ll pack my bags and Calgon!
if another city wants me
say so now
and thanks ahead of time
Try not to be bitter. My honesty—”To tell you the truth, I’m feeling a little awkward right now”—could not penetrate her haughtiness. It did not bother me enough to pursue it, only to mark it down as a note to self: Some people never wanna play nice. They insist they know me right away. How could they? I let go of them just as quick as they let go of me. It’s only complicated when you allow yourself to get sucked in.
Everyone hides behind something. Smoke. The bottle. Lies. Buerocracy. So try to make it right. Trying to repair the past is one thing, but from this day forward, you can make those big decisions that you’ve had sitting on the back burner for years and years. Don’t we wanna celebrate something real for a change?
