Perception Two
November 4th 2009 10:41
I am sick of being tired,
Wired and sore.
Sick of waking up in different places, with an aching back,
Sick of my throat feeling like I have smoked too many cigarettes, because I have.
Sick of paying off one travelling trip and saving for another,
Smothered in wine and late nights and minor forms of self directed crime,
Some time, some wonderful day, I will wake up the same time every day.
In the same bed,
In the same pyjamas,
With the same woman,
With familiar plans and matching kitchen cooking pans,
The best kind,
A house where everything has its place,
A quiet space out the back looking over the edible garden,
To read and write about a quiet night,
Though for now, the varied and intense experiences that add up to a year worth a life time,
Feeling fine enough most times and bubbling with joy at the rest,
Investing in a full up memory bank, the money bank just a temporary holding space for a new race against the clock and across the late misbehaving hours,
Smiles from a girl with blonde curls who I might take home later,
Or to her home,
Or to a hostel,
Hard to tell, the way she’s smiling, all augurs well,
The music in here can be felt right through your chest and into your heart,
Waking up in the dark on a beach looking up at a sky where the stars are upside down,
Smoking a cigarette at dusk overlooking a foreign sea,
Or simply wandering into a club late
Full of those who do not care about interest rates,
Is going to be me for a little while longer.
Because it is more profound, though it takes a lot of endurance.
Wired and sore.
Sick of waking up in different places, with an aching back,
Sick of my throat feeling like I have smoked too many cigarettes, because I have.
Sick of paying off one travelling trip and saving for another,
Smothered in wine and late nights and minor forms of self directed crime,
Some time, some wonderful day, I will wake up the same time every day.
In the same bed,
In the same pyjamas,
With the same woman,
With familiar plans and matching kitchen cooking pans,
The best kind,
A house where everything has its place,
A quiet space out the back looking over the edible garden,
To read and write about a quiet night,
Though for now, the varied and intense experiences that add up to a year worth a life time,
Feeling fine enough most times and bubbling with joy at the rest,
Investing in a full up memory bank, the money bank just a temporary holding space for a new race against the clock and across the late misbehaving hours,
Smiles from a girl with blonde curls who I might take home later,
Or to her home,
Or to a hostel,
Hard to tell, the way she’s smiling, all augurs well,
The music in here can be felt right through your chest and into your heart,
Waking up in the dark on a beach looking up at a sky where the stars are upside down,
Smoking a cigarette at dusk overlooking a foreign sea,
Or simply wandering into a club late
Full of those who do not care about interest rates,
Is going to be me for a little while longer.
Because it is more profound, though it takes a lot of endurance.
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