there isn't any poetry in this post

This is a copy of a post from my word press blog from yesterday.... I'll be trying to post in both places until I bore of it. I will follow this one with my post from today should I find it in need of posting.

Paul Simon is on the radio and was preceded by Buffalo Springfield. Sitting at a hospital and waiting for the IV infusion to complete is not the most interesting thing I’ve planned into my day but it is not the most uninteresting thing either.
Last night while journaling I decided to simply write what ever I heard in my head – it isn’t the first time I’ve done this and I usually only do it every time I forget that there is no narrative to the voices
“I like that old time Rock and Roll” sung without any irony.
or dreams of close eyes just before bed contemplation. Interesting disconnectedness to it. Sometimes flow of consciousness isn’t going to be any good – or sometimes it is good and most of the time it is disjointed and sad.
phil collins now and I think the disc Jockey must be schizophrenic as there is no sense to the selected song list – Elton John earlier.
I’ve never really cared for radio save the classical station – WFMT – of which I am a member and it plays constantly in my car. Radio seems either to play to the vox popoli or a far too specific cast of listeners – as I am not a member of the VP – I am a member of a specific cast of listeners – those who listen to classical and jazz mostly so I don’t get exposed to a lot of current but the current makes me want a whiskey and water.
The patient falls asleep in her barcalounger while hooked into IV antibiotics. a severe lack of anything interesting for me while I have my computer must be mind bogglingly boring for her without any entertainment except for the schizophrenic radio DJ. The radio DJ brags about playing pop, rock and soul and he forgets to mention crap and filler and bad radio commercials.

there is a king

tuned guitar and placed on the floor.
to live without.
waking up.

I've stacks of magazines on my desk awaiting notice of content, bills that I'd rather not pay as I fail to see the quality of the service and its addition to my life.

my watch has a broken off hand noticed only once at the airport and too late to change it for another. I love watches and collect them - nice ones but rarely wear them, preferring to be unencumbered from time and appointment. preferring to be unencumbered by diploma of life and riches and sun stained shoulders and neck.

but this isn't my life anymore and I don't work or add to a community that does not want words of perspective.
waking up.

ideation of end of life scenarios with tool of end game held firmly in hand but persistence of the flowers in the mornings and birds singing at five am -
waking up.

I remember a moment so brazen, bold - coming now with apple and white tooth smile hidden behind a beard or bad breath.
waking up.

suddenly 80 degrees Fahrenheit, suddenly humid and I sculpt memories out of tar and sand,
this is today.
this is where you can find me.
waking up.