the world. The surprises are fewer. The stream

still runs and the grass still grows. I check

my forehead for fever, but no, not sick.

The trees still leaf and the leaves still

burn. I pay a visit to my psychiatrist and she says

I am making it up. I agree the possibility

is real, and when I leave her office

spew. Stop signs obeyed. Sidewalks

scuffed. At home I fix a cup of hot

chocolate from scratch, cream, cocoa, sugar.

It is the most boring drink I’ve tasted.

I apply gel to my hair and head

to the bar for a beer. The beer tastes good,

but that is to be expected.

TV still showing football. Neon flashing

in the window. I go home. I go for a run. A night run.

Cool air on sweaty skin. Streetlights

like the full moon looped back on itself. Invisible

stars. Before I know it I am halfway across town.

That is when I hear it. My heart, going crazy.

Even with it going crazy they are still there. The silent

bits. That’s what surprises me. That my gasping, lurching

heart, my going crazy heart is still broken

into blank spaces, that while pounding life

it finds its pace in dead air, in disappearance.







Photo by Felix on Flickr