One Hundred And First

one hundred and first
by pat a physics
Appealing light was making its way through my room.
The quality spoke to me, and told me everything I know.
That there was a snag in the way things are run every day.
In my moccasins, I felt like I was levitating toward you,
feeling around on the ceiling in the sparkly pits of plaster.
Complicated formulas tackled your tongue for good,
and so I did all the talking until we busted out the booze.
I shared that tidbit and this germ of an idea. You told me,
“This one hundred and first morning is most fantastic.”
Your tally was animated and growing large paper donuts.
Just doodle, I told myself, sit down and draw a picture.
The maple syrup was dripping down the shattered curtain.
Sweat beaded my temple, and I made for my cup. Yet,
the cup was farther than what I had perceived. I grasped,
with certainty, the void between me and it. Nerves frayed.
You looked amused with your lips tucking in and you said,
“Can I use your lighter for one or two seconds, right now?”
I asked you, in a gravelly, messy version of talking, why.
Annoyed with my disconnection, you flew out of the room
and I saw you only in photographs in my disintegrating eye.

0 thoughts on “One Hundred And First

  1. hmm. i think this is an interesting piece. the abruptness is called for and i’m not entirely sure why. this reminds me of being at one with your thought flow, than an interruption from the outside, not even one perceived as intrusive and pow pow pow you’re all alone. i would love to read into this and let it feel real to me-to relate and know why. and that finishing line is just fucking state of the art.
    thank you, pat a physics!

Leave a Reply