it’s a 2nd or 3rd wind
blowing wishing
to remain in the basement
over night
knowing it’s entirely
too cold
joints start to hurt
pun intended
regardless of intent
war at the beginning
war at the end
and all throughout
the nightly ramblings
whatever they may mean
three point one four
or not
someone’s still awake
upstairs and he remains
two floors below
two pages left
to right and write on down
he spots the bowl
nearly empty bud barely burned
blaze burning in celebration
end of another thought
spilled creativity
on top of lines
keep the thoughts
in order brock town style
even though no one is around
to see or hear
what these thoughts
make him do circles
around his own subconscious
searching for a piece of truth…
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