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How often do I think about the future? So often the present moves slowly and I draw my body into stiffness, grotesque as ever, reluctant to give in but longing for the great embrace. Deliver me to God. Finish the story or at least let me know when the void begins to curve. I’ll go where my breath takes me. I’ll go to where collision doesn’t necessarily mean disaster. Just an effort to be felt highly as I cling to the thread of consciousness that comes with repetition of the words I am. I am. I am. I am. There, lying there, I long for the future. Long? How long? The hum of words and yes, that’s it. At this very moment, I want to throw up something that isn’t within my body, something luminous; a 1,000-pointed star. What I am seeing now both frightens and moves me all at once, like a bird lifting to the high air. I am what I do not know. But I go to seek the breath of life to signal the decks I do recall.
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