I’m lying here like a fly on a bar sipping my beer as words swim around waiting to be put together as cohesive thoughts.
They should somehow come alive and be allowed to bust from the page and ignite.
I have been along my way for such a bit, that my sails have become ragged and frayed where mattering most. I forget what it is I venture for.
The purpose that drives.
The Moon that directs.
The ability to escape my own head.
My ship runs aground from time to time.
This allows me peace from myself, and adventures with islands of fools.
I wade through the mucky shoreline and take vantage points of the forbidden lands.
I travel the roads, pay the tolls, hike the trails, and hear conversations of taxi men fares to find a resolution in this foreign land that I can pack and replace my sails with and just coast with the winds on. I search for meaning, but find only explanations why I ride the turbulent seas.