Rosewater Lithium Salt Bath

I waited, reading the veteran's account from long ago, about not being there, as the dust from construction blew along 55th St., by The St. Regis, covering the bourgeois in their own poison.

My lungs tickled from my, not spring, cold and I thought about moving, my place of waiting, and my place of dwelling, on all that so quickly passes, leaving the raucous silence of nothing learned.

The nowhere children of Broadway gathered to dance miserably for the pleasure of their economic masters.

I joined them, having no vision of another road to take.

I stretched my wretched spine, unmoved by indolence. Unmoved by impetus.

Nothing sound. No voice.

A rasp is all that remains.

I dodged and burned with unsated furor. I pushed the stops and reflected bitterly on the times I cowered for fear of becoming.

It unfolds though, if you let it, and things go through the floor. I don't recommend it personally.

Sometimes I know when to stop.

Don't you? Don't you ever....

Things didn't work, but did, in their way, anyway. It wasn't my way.

There is nothing in my way.

Then there is madness, trying to articulate to the insane. A few drinks later, it seemed to work by fiat.

And you wonder what is yours....

Back is broken. I am blind and sweating.

Finished.

And into the darkness I go again with flowers for you.