Listing

I meant to write "listening" there, but listing will work for the moment.  Getting dark damn early outside, and cooler too.  In my head, I'm still locked in the summer heat though, all unbuttoning my shirt collar and thinking about ice cream (where did those majestic singing trucks get tucked away, anyhow?), and when I go to the subways they reify my incongruous perceptions with their heat (yes still, and they heat those train cars far too much).  Something is happening.  Time.  It is slipping.  Correction: I'm now noticing that I cannot hold onto time, that my previous smatterings of perception have been unlaboriously removed from the wall like unwanted graffiti, and that, damnit all, it turns out that there are some hard sharp edges to this thing they call reality, and those edges will slice you if you lean in on them, and sometimes they'll get you just to play with you too.  And no matter how fulfilled you are, or how much you dream, you'll still only be stuck with yourself at the end of the day.  This, an important lesson for the budding alcoholics among us.  You can't get rid of yourself (well, you can, but then you'd fail to perceive this fact, so what I'm really saying is that you can't have it both ways by getting rid of yourself and being free of earthly encumbrances/physicalities and also stick around to know about that, however deeply embedded that fantasy may be in our popular culture or idols). And you can't get rid of time.  It sticks to you.  And no matter how it might seem, other people can't get rid of it either.