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
