Lips like saccharine
Scale an expanse of frosty
Memory's recumbent status
On a Sunday alone in a bar.
I keep fogging my lungs for
Company of self destruction
To anticipate some reality
That might stop me cold,
Like the sweat from this fresh
Bottle of beer.
The first time in months that
I've been on my two wheeled
Machine. The wind was strong;
Forcing me in directions I've not gone
In so many years it's hard to remember.
Some habits are old. They beckon
You back like a favored friend
And ask subtly, "do you recall? "
I do. But these visions are skewed
By all the new, newly forgotten,
And hard to remember fractions
Of what I used to be here
In this place.

Some choose to carve a path
Through life's journey. Some
See it as a road to traverse.
Some let it roll them like a wheel
Down an awkward hill,
And still others lie in wait,
Watching a picture show before
Departure. I do not know of
Which I'm classified. I only know
That whatever I'm in feels
Like a dream in many ways.
When will I awake?