Crayon Hook Up
by Odin Roark

Early Last Night…

Thinking got heavy,
uncomfortable feelings crept in.
The mix was...
I don't know...
revealing?

How much?

How much is one person supposed to carry?
How strong this body thin?

Have I not hammered enough nails,
untangled enough twisted synaptic vines?
When will it be finished,
this lean-to in the forest of high-rise expectancies,
these mindscapes where insomniacs of struggling conscience
meet persistent awareness aflame?

Is there only sitting alone on empty subway cars,
careening through express stops,
where ghosts of ancient ether float suspended,
waving their giddy hands as the blur passes
where the burning midnight oil insistence
searches for better light,
illuminating dream signs,
visions that never cease?

Such was before...

I reached the last stop,
climbed the stairs into midnight darkness,
walked hand in hand with my cacophony of silence,
pushed through that familiar door,
straddled my stool at O'Riley's,
made my pencil write,
while five and dime glassware
became faceted crystalline hope,
sloshing memories about,
scrawling desperate words onto willing napkins,
drowning dream after dream,
into caramel river after caramel river,
finding my liver-docking oh so accommodating.

Later last night…

I found my perch atop the familiar bridge railing,
you know, the same one as before,
before, and before that,
pondering the physics of arc and speed.

They say water runs deepest
when you know it is time, and…
they keep telling me two-hundred feet
allows plenty of gravity to take hold.

But…

They've got me in this awful padded green room again.
Took my pencil.
Gave me a crayon.
Blue this time.
Visions don't care.
Curls and lines.
All the same.

Late last night…

They said I had to stay awhile, again.
You know,‘til I convince them, again,
that I'm all here,
all there,
all together,
just a little lonelier.
No harm to anyone.

So, today…

I'm thinkin' there's gotta be a better way
something more than me fantasizing you all the time.
Maybe we could… well, you know—hook up.
You and me.
Coffee. Nothin’ fancy,
just...

We could make it early.
Tomorrow night.
Just a little date
before my thinkin' gets heavy again.

Maybe?