Walking In The Kitchen

I would walk to the refrigerator door
Nothing fancy
Just a look inside
A peak into an unknown light that lay before me
The curiosity spiked across the neurons and electricity building inside

I reach for the filtered water
A familiar taste

As I stand pouring into a clear snifter
I walk my happy ass to the kitchen table
And begin to write
What for?
I ask myself
A way to pass time,
I tell myself
Isn't this what waiting is?
A neatly pressed thought, up against the cerebral window
Pacing the floor to arrive at a point

The leisurely hour slipping away
Always slipping into the oblivion of an ocean that sits inside and stumbles along the sand
Nothing solid and nothing to be fully grasped
Just thoughts meandering
Cymbals crashing
And this is seventy percent of me
I drink to you, O, heavenly water
Fill my cup so, that I may be empty
& See right through you