Can

Flag

Flowing in the breezy change is the flag of transistion, not really...no flag per se, but my eyes should show this banner of transistion.

The movement past cigarettes. The move beyond alcohol, except for one or two among a group. The departure of being an editor, moving into a new group, a new work position, leaving old, familiar ways behind. And her, the new addition in the middle of a my discombobulated life. That is now, this is me, the newness and strange and unfamiliar.

Dreaming bears the must disruption in that I can't sleep through the night without interruptions of expanding, swirling mind explorations. I wake up suddennly, needing rope for the tent, scared of missing Keith race the funny car, apprehensive that I didn't feed the cat that is long past.

I cough up blood in the mornings, a parting hell to my years of neglect for my breathes of life. Blood mixes with oxygen and paints permanence on white porcelain early every morning lately.

Hope hopscotches these painted signs of doom, more recognizeable than ever now in my leaps over and past them, as I breathe deep, as I reach further, and believe...know I can accomplish boundaries forbidden before.