In Action

I want to shout in the streets like Ginsberg's tragic poets. The damned and defeated have nothing to lose but time, while I creep in my room looking for satisfaction in words rather than action with other bodies. It was discomfort and inconvenience that made me feel too old and too scared. There is no future of fiery shrieks in the night choked up in laughter. No gasping breath materializes a shimmering fog suspended in night air. All manner of limbs fall about in wildness only in fantastic visions of who I am not and will not. There is something Romanitic to the billow of smoke and sharpened clarity of stars. Lie in the grass in the summer at night and the world morphs to some unbelievabl contradiction. Time and distance grow beyond the realms of comprehension while the whole world shrinks to the senses of something alive. The night sky stretches indefinitely for the overwhelming contentment of one mind. Inhale. Stop breathing. The world simplifies. Exhale in slow motion.