Bobbing Along...

Up and down. Up and down. Cyclical rythym. An almost mathematical variation around a central point. Yin and Yang. Balance. A cork in the water. Uneasy variations. Peering over the edge into familiar, yet unwelcome, territory. The defeat of perpetual motion through constant loss of energy. Nothing left of the sun but a pink smear on the western horizon by 7 PM. Retreat or run: either is a haphazard solution. Staring and fidgeting pass anxious moments when no thunderclap of momentous revalation is apparent. The road is obvious, the destination uncertain. It's not those ridiculous days when the only way I could express the need to know how much anyone cared for me was to get excessively drunk, fall down and have them tend to me if they would. It's the fatigue of the over armored and the echo of an empty gymnasium. That last fond memory shielded from the light of logic and truth at any and all costs. The point where wondering becomes a substitute for living or knowing. A last frantic and fevered dream at the edge of an afternoon nap. An involutary shiver that ripples your skin when you remember how they touched you. The wheel turns, night falls, and thoughts slip away to the place where they are bent and twisted by the funhouse mirrors we never get to see. Pointed teeth pressing into your skin to savor the juices within. The longer the wave, the lower the peak. The higher the peak, the shorter the wave. Measurement changes position and the cycle begins anew.