Sinking/Floating

Sinking/Floating

I’m of a mind to sit still as

The thought of you becomes a whisper pecking at my lips,

Shoulders weighted by mountains

And supported by arms tied to marionette strings,

Sink deep down like into quicksand

And remnants of thought escape like cartoon fumes from my ears,

Leaving only one thought left in the blush of my cheeks.

The whispers fight to escape and the blush only reddens as beads of sweat

trickle down sinking mountains and patter drums of thunder, washing

away a certain stench that permeates from the stress of inertia,

That whiplash which leaves us beheaded and begotten with heady thoughts,

That whiplash which leaves us threaded as a knot in a mosaic that was,

Thrusting forward from the neck down into what is,

Fuck that.

I’m of a mind to sit still.

And by still I mean still,

The thrill of sitting and waiting

For the next sign of momentum,

For the inertia to punch me in the face

Being chased by a concept of reality

And losing it in daydreaming fantasy

Eyelids sink like into quicksand,

And Beads of sweat trickle down sinking mountains and patter drums of thunder,

And with every beat I am cleansed,

And with every beat the strings tied to my fingertips grow taut and slowly pull upwards

They allow me to defy gravity

And I am flying,

And I am at rest,

And I am sitting still.

Moments flutter by in their chaos,

In their responsibility,

In their duty.

I float as I sit still and rest,

I count the moments by with a smile on my face

No matter how fast they go,

I’m not going anywhere,

And neither are they/them.

There are no strings on me,

I don’t need them.

I’m light as whispers tucking at my lips,

I’m light as the movement made from sitting still.

I’m light as a cat-and-mouse chase,

I’m light as the single thought left

The only thought which moves me even as I’m still.

The only thought which evades capture as I do.