A bad poem cause I haven't posted.

If lights could speak

The lights of the planes get lost the stars

And the twinkle is mirrored in the house lights

And streetlights down below.

Each one has a million stories to tell

Locked in burning gasses and

Shimmering filaments.

A business-suited man on his way to Chicago,

A mother putting her child to bed,

A sweaty-palmed man with full pockets

Beneath a street lamp.

Each more important than

Any odyssey or lyric put to 4/4 time.

Write

The days end in so many ways, but the beginnings are set in stone. Wake up, internet, coffee, breakfast, shower. After that the day begins to unfold along it's natural course. It's the one part of the day that I can take full control of my life. After that it begins to slip and work, friends and other demands require attention. I have to go grocery shopping, or head in to work a little early. Bikes need fixing and friends need talking to. The day never unfolds under my control. There are always little things that spring from my grasp. People that make the day worse, or better. Or simple act mis-acted so the results are unconventional. By night the day has had it's way with me and I sit, up too late again, exhausted by the demands of my world. The adventure of the day is nice, but sometimes I think the mornings to myself offer more rest than the night's sleep did.

Worries

My greatest fear is to be found naked in my bathroom far past my prime, after I have been in there for two or three days decomposing in the heat and the moisture. I guess I wouldn’t be embarrassed at that point if you believe what the atheists/agnostics/believers tell you. I would already be in heaven or hell or purgatory, sent on to my next life, or just disappear. Maybe swallowed into the universal consciousness. Either way I don’t think my dead, unsightly naked body would be that embarrassing to me.

So why do I worry about something that probably won’t happen? And even if it does happen I won’t care. I don’t know. It kind of wraps up everything I find reprehensible though. And to go out in a way that is so opposite of how I like to think that I’m living, it’s enough to drive anyone crazy.

Think about that dead, ugly, overweight, rotting, naked corpse. A, it’s naked. It’s such a vulnerable state. B, too old, vulnerable again. C, it’s such a bother to everyone to break down some bathroom door just to drag out your ugly rotting corpse, and to add to that you’re unsightly and naked. Gross. So not only are you vulnerable, but a draw on the energy of everyone around you. Ever since I was a kid I was told to be two things, tough and self-reliant, and I guess that death counteracts all of that.

Funny though, isn’t it, I mean this will never ever matter. But sometimes I worry about it.