I did something very strange.
In a fit of sheer, grasping desperation
I lifted my hands up,
pressed my dry palms together towards the
fraught with tiny holes from pushpins
and amongst the noise of the building,
the elated shrieks and mottled
noise of various conversations
I began to whisper in hushed tones
to a god or God
who may-or-may-not exist.
I may-or-may-not have said ďfuckĒ
but I didnít apologize to him or Him.
I said dear god itís been a while but
right now I really need something
and I canít help myself anymore.
And sometimes I canít catch my breath,
it only gets to the precipice of my throat
but doesnít fall off the cliff into my lungs,
and sometimes when it gets really quiet
in the room thereís this high-pitched ringing
and it makes my ears and brain feel
a little bit lonely.
I donít know if itís just me,
but when Iím watching people walk along
and like, animals and such,
Iím struck by this overwhelming
monotony of life;
we may have friends but why
we may love each other
and hate each other
and hold hands with each other
and go out
And I thought
if youíre or Youíre up there
why donít we
float in the air
and feast on clouds
and why do we have worries
and why do the planets orbit
the sun in ellipses and not perfect circles?