3.18.23

 I am parked in front of the Mississippi river.  Not now when you read this, but sometime in the past.

I was here early, of course.  I had no idea where to be or when, so i was early.

I had to go somewhere, to kill a little time.  I could have killed it anywhere, just as it could kill me anywhere were i not already dead, if not  now, then at some point which is certain to be certain.  

This was selfish of me, there were any number of places i coud have gone to this morning, any number of things that i could have done perhaps any number of people who i could be with although there was perhaps only one other and perhaps that option is an illusion.

Who have I not, at one point or another, offeneded.  Even at my best that is a talent which seems to be more sure than the others.

I did not start here, by the river with its tugs and barges and the current which is strong again, afte the drought.  The road dead ended on the far eastern side of the park so i got out to piss on an oak tree.  After all, i solved the space time continuum; i can relieve myself wherever i want on this side of eternity.

I also walked, 3000 steps almost; stretching my legs after the long drive.  I looked at the street names, knowing where each one leads, where all roads in my mind lead.  

I could taste the proimity.  I walked along feeling the heavy beating of my heart, a clock marking the time I have left, here, gone, here, gone.   it was cold so i wore a hat and gloves and it was shaded so the heat of the sun was absent.

I could feel it all around me, memories turned real by passion, time standing still as it can only do for one who understands it with all of its limitations and infinities and absolute endings.

I could taste you in the air. Here, gone, here, gone.

All an illusion, even the river and the tug struggling to dock right in front of me or the one pushing the barge.