The Third Wheel
Truth be told, I like the excitement of the unknown. Let’s keep it this way, I’m digging it.
I’m on a mattress, 1130 at night, getting ready to buy some cheap coffee across the street from the tired smiling lady behind the streaked, cracked bulletproof glass for my midnight vault through the meteor stricken sky.
Maybe I can outrun this haunting in my chest, leave it here, deal with it later.
I’d like to see the birds when they fly north.
I guess I don’t believe in absurd. I believe there is either the dull, unoriginal, sometimes all too mathematical equivalent of a long drawn out yawn of a living or my dearest most entertaining friends who are plagued by an overload of emotions, and doubts and the like. What magic these friends here and gone abroad have stirring in their cauldrons. They should endeavor to keep me as I should endeavor to keep them. What, if I were to use the word absurd, is of the center, in which they huddle like lemmings for normalcy. I’d like to see those birds too, Jon.
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