The Moment

True subject matters have eluded me for a while. I think it’s a comfort thing. That dryer-fresh or

sweater feeling has outlived it’s structure. There needs to be created a new structure. A quieter one without someone speaking their thoughts behind gum-chewing keyboard clacking. Quite a while ago, it seems like it has been a while even when it has not, I found myself at a party with some high school friends. Those who kept me sharp at the time with thoughts on a veritable matters: Shakespeare, Poe, War of 1812, or those subjects that were far more esoteric like the historical ramifications of some event thousands of years ago or thoughts on the religious texts. This time they were all drinking. Heavily. It was discouraging to see those same people to whom I looked to for intellectual stimulation and discourse intoxicated, attempting to urinate into the hedges. The image only firmed my staunch belief in the futility of alcohol, and forced me to imagine better sceneries. I then wrote a thing (I’m apprehensive to attach the label of “poem” this particular thing, but others have called it such). It was a thing that I enjoyed writing and enjoy reading to this day as it keeps the image of to what and where I would like my life to be lead.

Today I think back at that thing, and attempt to drive myself there. That will be me in front of a

fireplace, sitting in a chair, quietly.