Clouds and Architecture

Clouds and Architecture

Unexpected notions have come and
gone so often
that it seems the clouds have swept me up into
their architecture and laid me down
upon an unknown and soggy ground
that feels like familiar but hides
the humans that make crying worth the time.

It must come down to only this, having heard
the medical reports and read the latest issue of Science,
explaining addiction and pleasure, the dopamine and
neurotransmitters shooting skeet in my brain.

“PULL!”

And the send the tingle to my ears,
the rush to my cheeks,
the ache to my stomach’s pit,
and the hunt for the last thing that
made me half as happy as the last time.

When did my brain decide
it would be the guide from adolescence
to a middle class home? Who stole the
dreams I knew
would come true
because they were good.
I have outrun my days. The dreams are
bubbles burst on wind and sunless day.

One man said, (I trusted his sincerity)
for increased clarity, keep your joy bucket full.
What he could not see (nor could I tell till now)
the bucket is rusted out and holds
less than my most rapid fill. He meant well.

For those who will allow it,
who are also enshrouded with brain ticks
that make clouds into bricks of dizzy architecture:
To want to start all over again,
and be further from the beginning, within reach of the end
is the most dangerous pain; clouds and anti-depressants,
prayer and Sunday school lessons, are the tension rings
that prevent the whole things slipping into the rapids.

Did I mention I hate the fact that some friends are gone
and I would like to have them back?