No Refreshments Allowed

perpetually perpetually perpetually
perpetuating
          no progress
                  over-analytical state
defines your actions
defines your inactions
no
physical
        steps    forward

occasional novel metal pathway
leading up a staircase
floating

above an unclaimed abyss
creeping upward
creating the seams
sitch together to outline insanity
running the circular line

lining feet up with each grid mapped ditch, crack, and mistake
repeat
repeat
re-
now faster
faster
until
at least one or both of your ankles twist
revealing muscle below worn calves and bloody toes
effort isn't yielding what you expected
as the golden discharge of a moonbeam's glow
abandons it’s bitter taste on your tongue
his heroic path
causing your mind numbing mindless mental mayhem
years
too
u

n
r
a
v

e…….l

remove the gears causing the clock's fixed hours
tell yourself your five again
except the five-year-old you wasn't afraid, was she?
more so
you are once again post break-of-bulk point
a six year old aspiring to nightmares of a simple nature
like wolves in red hoods or evil men outside your window
basic images of menace with attainable solutions
resolutions
to fear
you are instead
left waiting
the period when certain crisis
certain results
did not come
and you are left without longing
(want was removed in the moment of your falling departure)
now all that’s left to think, do, speak, feel, breath
is
waiting
endless anticipation
and though the line to your destination
st re  tc  he  s farther than the eye can see
you politely encourage others to step in front of you
insist you are in no hurry
but you realize each person's hands are bound to cuffs and then to one another
in a humanity long chain link
all waiting
waiiting
for the nothing that divides, decides, and designs
everything
every day
every way you live your live
despite the control you may think you maintain
your strong hands cannot grasp the droplets of water
water's temporary power to refresh
ultimately dries out your hands
and they crack and peel at the corners
left standing to behold the tragedy of your own massive intimidating aftermath
like standing in front of a house, once yours
that cracked and splintered in all corners
until it is nothing but those splinters that had consumed it
the lollipops and sweet cooing phrases from nurturing figures
did not soothe your six-year-old taste senses
and still you are left in search of a lasting revival
like seeking a cool clear refreshment to ease the hard toll of what cynicism shoved down your throat
each quenching drip from the rim of old-fashioned the glass bottle
training my palate to need this satiating repetition of flavor
dependency on liquid caffeination
without tendency to question your cola habituation
and
it's days like this you wish you believed
because
ever though you would betray yourself and ever value
of analysis and mental scrutinizing that you hold dear
you know how good that refreshment would taste going down the back of your scratchy tired throat
if only you had more than pocket lint for that soda machine...