These things that we say are fallible
We exist as hyperbole
This presentation of the elevation
As if we are turned to eleven at all times
As if we are not sitting eating a muffin
As if the cool noise of a fan does not swing in the background
As if we were these over the top always on always always people
But sometimes I want to talk about Sartre and sometimes I want to make a nonsense noise, kiss you on the nose, and read.
Its not all life and death
Not all this and only this
We are not replacements for what we have
We are additions adding up to more

Just give me these moments
To walk through the gray
I’m sitting here waiting
You’ll know that I’ll stay
But fear not tenacity or weighty attention
My touch is feather light
Or such is my intention

Looking for a straight line
On a road made of zags
Waiting for the sound of you
I’m trying as fast as I can
Walking up the down escalator