BFF
by Odin Roark

Early Last Night…

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

A simple subway ride, and…

How much?

How much was one person supposed to carry?

How strong that body thin?

One car.

One passenger.

Had he not hammered enough nails?
Untangled enough twisted synaptic vines?
When might it be finished,
his lean-to in the forest of high-rise expectancies,
nocturnal mindscapes where insomniacs of abandoned conscience
meet persistent awareness aflame?

For him sitting alone on an empty subway car,
careening through express stops,
where ghosts of ancient ether float suspended,
waving their giddy hands as the blur of pass-through,
where the burning midnight-oil insistence
searches for better light,
illuminated dream signs,
visions that never cease?

That was before he reached the last stop,
climbed the stairs into midnight darkness,
listened to the cacophony of silence,
pushed through that familiar door,
straddled his stool at O'Riley's,
made his pencil write
while five and dime glassware
became faceted crystal of his dreams,
sloshing memories about,
elbowing their way into napkin after napkin,
crossed out words after crossed out words,
caramel river after caramel river,
finding his liver oh so accommodating,
all while his imagination took up the stool next to his.

Later last night

He found a perch atop a familiar railing,
he seems so comfortable,
Like he’d been there before,
his bridge never forgotten,
his view of tomorrow
few new anything of.

A smile…

He knows water runs deepest
when it's time to accept
two-hundred feet allows plenty of gravity to collect?
Is that the expression he’s seeing.

Now…

They've got him in this awful green room again,
took his pencil,
gave him a crayon,
purple this time,
words don't care,
curls and lines,
just the same.

Late last night…

They said he had to stay awhile,
again,
you know,
‘til he convinced them,
again,
he’s all there,
all together,
just a little lonely,
no harm.

At sunrise…

Him,
us,
we’re talkin’
there's gotta be another way,
you know,
better than making each other up all the time,
maybe we could meet,
you and me,
coffee,
a daytime meet-up,
nothing fancy,
just...

He’s tellin’ me now…

Maybe early
tomorrow afternoon
before thinkin' gets heavy again,
maybe?

Why not?
Alone makes few friends, right?

A singular nod.

We part.