Three-thirty to nine-thirty (3:30 to 9:30) - madness plucking away at the mind…
And for some fucking reason you’re still here.
I suppose it might have been God who set that night to blossom
Its terrifyingly beautiful petals at work upon our apperception,
yet nothing else in the world mattered.
…No deadline or post-secretive thought kept its presence in my mind, nor my eye.
Amazing the power of loosely understood words
when taken from the vocal chords of the unknown
- strewn over thick and time-less parchment,
partially marked but the author always present.
Swept back memories are marching their way across my vision,
a time when perhaps I had given up hope of those who can see,
and then those who are better.
The conversation swirls
across the stretched out twilight of a heightened world we both know exists…
if only to torment the union of us two who cannot seem to reach it.
His movements illustrate a certain grace,
while my own match his own in stride – the ballet movements of two almost enlightened,
way too fucked up pawns.
Late night light,
bright star constellation words of mastery,
and I know I can only touch that once in an every
now-and-then ethereal blue moon.
Close your eyes and reflect.
Breathe in your early hour conversation and understand the movements,
that ancient honor code you have just taken
…unknowingly, but not unwillingly.
Think back and know
that even whilst that late night discussion of the like-minded
comes only so often as a brilliant fire-star takes its dying breathe,
that it is there,
and it is a constant.
…an ever prevalent to those of us who know,
those of us who are,
and those of us who do not need distractions to really live.