no place else to go

when it feels like snow and there is no snow

when the lights are low no matter how many lights you turn on

when you klnda feel like hopping in the trash can, just for the ride

words seem like sand and tumble out as opposed to being spoken

the dogs know something is up and they wait to be touched and then move away

or the hands on the clock crawl and then leap forward so ones’ sense of time is distorted

you feel like you are in a drug induced stupor and you are clean

broken and bent you pick up a stick and rub it against the fence as you walk

when you get to the gate, you enter and cross the schoolyard to the swings

as you swing you sing ” life is but a dream, changing as we swing, might as well accept it  and keep swimming in the stream”

then you pray, because there is no place left to go