sunday, january 19

stagger, if not quite stumble in
a little before seven
looking like a refugee from dazed and confused

wonder if the streaks of silver-white
shooting past the window in the almost-light
are snowfall
or just symptoms of twenty-four hours awake,
the kind of thirst that makes you dizzy,
alcohol and its byproducts still doing things
forgotten from highschool chemistry

you know it's not important
but your brain's still turning
long past any reason not to sleep

any reason, but that sometimes
everything changes with little warning

not to imply anything too profound, i guess
i'm just constantly amazed
by the way things are almost never quite what you think
especially before something forces you to really look

by the way experience
is in some sense the only kind of knowledge
you are ever likely to have about the things that matter

by the places you find the things that matter.

tags: topics/poem

p1k3 / 2003 / 1 / 19