Tuesday Bridge

As sunlight rains through the dark patches of sky, I realize clouds have holes in them. I am sure there is some sort of science or philosophy or poetry to might explain this inconsequential personal discovery, but I don't want explanation. I only want to enjoy it. The observation, nay, the picture is enough.

But I am distracted today. Distracted by patterns in the water I cannot see well enough to comprehend. Distracted by the fact my need to pee grows with every step away from a civilized solution. Distracted by a text that tells me about an appointment I didn't even know I had. But then there is always something to draw me away from what my soul and mind need. Of course the body is an easy puppet for a clever string puller.

today the smell of sin:

engines, cigarette butts,

gray water's mysterious

ripples -- faint as if passing

Every bridge, I think, needs a name. "Long Expanse Between Rockwall and Rowlett on Highway 66" doesn't have much music in it. And I am too tired and lazy to look for some sort of historic or artistic connection to aid me. And so since I hope to spend more and better Tuesdays here, for now, I'll call this place simply "Tuesday Bridge." That's all I want to say for now.