Churn

I find myself inexplicably at an apogee from my comfort zone, too restless to rest, too far from home. I roam streets, corners, martyrs and mourners for something that tastes like a far away place, the kind that lingers like frowns on a face, or in the memories of burnt tongues, of last rungs on ladders split long before anyone knew what it was being used for, I ignore commonly misplaced intelligence, I capture irrelevance with irreverence I leave footprints in dirty stockings, while shady guy’s hocking unseen movies with overdone scripts, I leave rips in paper on pens, with friends and strangers, I seek dangers without them seeking me, I burp ecstasy. I think faster than I act, I behave better than I attract, I interact with compact conversation; I mingle in hesitation. I find better time to do nothing but something, I’d go spelunking if I had a funk team, dive to the riff-raff that counteracts, yoga lost to floor mats, I adore chaos and dread disaster I’ve been running off of something I’m after, I spit laughter; I eat words, love verbs, have you heard the bird that flies when it’s rhythm drops I respect cops when they don’t arrest me, I get testy when I’m messy, I get sundry when I’m hungry. I am already eaten, I’ve been beaten by good ideas and bad people, I poke steeple, scrape sky, I wonder why I have no plan, I push away the hand that makes demand. I ask questions and fake answers I’m known for my manners. I get low I think high. I barely try but I’m always dying to know what’s next. I blame turrets.