transient tick tocks of teleological time pieces two

(a hundred and fifty thousand people die on average each day

welcome to the dark streets of decay)

 

just walking

 

jenny was eating a salad with broiled chicken

saw the look on my face

 

fear of the domesticated pace

 

she put down her utensil

said,

“i’m not going anywhere

that is the decision i have made

that is what i want

i’m not going to tell you

you have to become something

in order to fit into my decision

but i will tell you that

you need to decide

what you really want”

 

i have her mp3 in my ear

playing “pink world”

by planet p project

 

i have a beer buzz

from the 40 ouncer i’m carrying

in a paper bag

 

i’m roaming late at night

some street

los angeles

 

just walking

not thinking

because

 

i already know what i want

it’s what i already have

 

jenny with child

 

but there will still be times

when i cheat on her with a rhyme

while walking wherever

 

so here i am

 just walking

 

it’s what i love to do

drinking

 

other’s dream

of doing so many things

 

but they are not me

fortunate for them

but i love taco vendors

beer

thick soled shoes

 

and the absence of all accompaniment

who always bring things round

to making a sound

about a benevolent being

orchestrating

 

“and that is why

this that or the other thing

happens the way it does”

 

i don’t know how atoms

made the molecular

that we manage to measure

but that doesn’t mean

there is something watching me

walk down this street

ignoring tired feet

i am not replete with ideas

of a conductor

 

yeah it is sad

that when i die

that’s it

chemical combustion

from the dirt i came

to the dirt i will return

no thought process will continue

 

 

and so i live

amid the miracle of life

battling my belief

that it just doesn’t fucking matter

 

while a woman waits for me

on sheets absent of my presence

pregnant with my child

 

i’m the alley cat

full mooned and wild

 

freed by philosophy

that dismisses

your soliloquy

about a silhouette

that’s making a list

checking it twice

save your advice

 

i’m not on trial here

death is not the consequence of beer

death is the consequence of being born

 

*** (artie knows what we don’t)