Robert Colpitts

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

And then I remember that tea is not made like coffee, and I soak up the mess like so much spongy wild mist, and the tea is good to drink, and I contemplate dead plants.

You get old, and you fear death, and you chase God, and you put on a big show of it, and you want to escape, and you treadmill-repeat the same process.

Get, fear, chase, put, want, treadmill-repeat.

Except, in the middle of that, you, wild-eyed, don’t know what you are like at 50% versus 100% because you constantly keep yourself at 50% and just call that confidence, your brain melting, your responses filled with these dead, empty pauses, the kind where you wonder if the person you are speaking to has a broken cog, and you tell me that it has nothing to do with the pot you smoke, the beer you drink, the food you don’t eat, the exercise you don’t do, you are like tea, you pour water over you in the shower, and then you are brewed, so cute that idea, but I don’t see my tea saying anything 100% anytime soon.

Questions like:  Is there anything else that is bothering you?

And like the shower, you shshshshshshshsshs.  Black and white channel 12 popcorn shshshshshsshshshshs.

That wild-eyed empty gaze, the I’ve-left-this-planet stare, the morose, jumpy, cynical look of the hippy-hoppy rabbit that stayed up too late.

That’s you!

: ) ! 

They forgot to tell you, when you said it’s not that bad, that you inevitably would see the world this way.  You would acquire could-you-say-that-again.  You would perfect world-does-not-make-sense.  You would practice what-the-hell-did-they-say.

M-U-T-E-D.

Like a hazy, multicolored cut-yourself-lose-and-forget that dear-guilt area of the brain: you don’t know the word for it you think.

And then, like tea, many varieties. 

And then, like tea, many colors.

And then, like tea, extra time.

And then, like tea, silence.

And then, like tea, shape-cup-dependent.

Because our dear bodies

So good to us

Just keep on going

No matter what we do to them

But you are down, like 50%, and you can’t tell

And your brain knows how shocking it is to see

This you

So your brain got deny-everything orders and follows them like clock-work.

And you can’t see it.

Hmm.  Sing a little, I guess.