from a collection I wrote called "Spit Mancunia"
Wandering aimlessly is my first sign of summer
Heat-flecked coffee house tables across a half dozen urban village enclaves of city centre quarters
Bohemia threading the shadow of retail malls
Adjacent detached
Newly hatched like last year never existed
A persistent sense of novelty despite fresh memories of the last lap
Happy illusion
Trapping an inkling of total inclusion
So I am at one with the place
In time with the race of it's myriad concerns
My need for fresh anticipation churns my belief
That being here is a seat worth having
And I feel unwashed relief that simply by existing I am kissing the heartstone
And just missing out on ever feeling alone or worse
The over-arching throb of facile boredom that is often known
For robbing friends and friends of theirs and others of a purpose for throwing off the covers and running headlong into the curtain-breached daylight to greet what awaits
The unknown known at the gates
And the realisation of the trick comes later
As is such with the un-hard lessons of age
Un-hard since they are forced and consequently come easy
Mandatory lessons are breezy since we don't have to try, think or know why
And the sense that this right now
Right this second right now
Is all that we feared it would be not
We hit perfection
The rub of the hub of the sweetest aspect of the centre of the very best part of the sweet sweet-spot
Which, looking back, was always a time when things were real good yet it was that coupled with a lucid nerving pulse of pure anticipation that so much more good was coming
It wasn't
But the pipeline delusion worked
The sweet spot was real.
Due to the aforementioned combination the prize took form and lurked
Long enough to suffer my exposure
Branding on me the lesson that heaven is a place where composure is so low on the list it barely pretends to exist
Since in that realm the essence is feeling
Not looking or doing
Just feeling
In that state just being is so hectic
That the internal state is the metric
Then ...
Time elapsed and we turned off at the junction
Where life took on a more normal form and function
Yet we were there
I was there
And that journey forever permeates my soul
Informing the ageing man
Such that the ride, in the wider sense, is never over
Perpetual four leafed clover
I wouldn't go back if I could
Today is the town and my hut here is fine
Built from yesterday's sticky slung mud
The hearth is where the mud hut heart is
The doormat threshold braced for all tomorrow's parties
...........
gk 05:05:12
Wandering aimlessly is my first sign of summer
Heat-flecked coffee house tables across a half dozen urban village enclaves of city centre quarters
Bohemia threading the shadow of retail malls
Adjacent detached
Newly hatched like last year never existed
A persistent sense of novelty despite fresh memories of the last lap
Happy illusion
Trapping an inkling of total inclusion
So I am at one with the place
In time with the race of it's myriad concerns
My need for fresh anticipation churns my belief
That being here is a seat worth having
And I feel unwashed relief that simply by existing I am kissing the heartstone
And just missing out on ever feeling alone or worse
The over-arching throb of facile boredom that is often known
For robbing friends and friends of theirs and others of a purpose for throwing off the covers and running headlong into the curtain-breached daylight to greet what awaits
The unknown known at the gates
And the realisation of the trick comes later
As is such with the un-hard lessons of age
Un-hard since they are forced and consequently come easy
Mandatory lessons are breezy since we don't have to try, think or know why
And the sense that this right now
Right this second right now
Is all that we feared it would be not
We hit perfection
The rub of the hub of the sweetest aspect of the centre of the very best part of the sweet sweet-spot
Which, looking back, was always a time when things were real good yet it was that coupled with a lucid nerving pulse of pure anticipation that so much more good was coming
It wasn't
But the pipeline delusion worked
The sweet spot was real.
Due to the aforementioned combination the prize took form and lurked
Long enough to suffer my exposure
Branding on me the lesson that heaven is a place where composure is so low on the list it barely pretends to exist
Since in that realm the essence is feeling
Not looking or doing
Just feeling
In that state just being is so hectic
That the internal state is the metric
Then ...
Time elapsed and we turned off at the junction
Where life took on a more normal form and function
Yet we were there
I was there
And that journey forever permeates my soul
Informing the ageing man
Such that the ride, in the wider sense, is never over
Perpetual four leafed clover
I wouldn't go back if I could
Today is the town and my hut here is fine
Built from yesterday's sticky slung mud
The hearth is where the mud hut heart is
The doormat threshold braced for all tomorrow's parties
...........
gk 05:05:12
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