Dating : Built For Speed

The world is built for speed,
But there are tracks that make it easier,
Or maybe even necessary,
To follow from where you are to where you have to go.
“It’s fast, baby!” are the words you hear whispered,
From that low-key hum in the clouds,
The long-haired hippie flashing the peace sign.

But slow down, friend, and dig your heels in,
And maybe catch a breath between pauses.
Maybe you can twist, to get around yourself.
Maybe you can do a handstand, to get over yourself.
Whenever life is so literal, how hard is it not to find the humor?

On the hill, you can face North, toward the star behind the haze.
You’re riding the waves, and your muscles are relaxed,
It feels like flying. But stop, stop!
It’s not time to fly. It’s time to float, soundless.
When the motion hits the breaks, the background noise
Falls to a dull roar, and then to nothing.
There it is!

Slow down, levitate, and how do you feel?
Where is time when there’s no ticking clock?
Sorrow might belong in a race car, but surely not in a bathtub.

Seize the day for science. Grab it between thumb and fingers,
And feel it wriggle around like a hungry ghost.
Spin, then. Spin, spin, sugar.

There might be a wish or two drifting on the breeze.
Maybe it says it wants to rest with you.
Maybe it says it’s more interested in dreams.
Play a clean game of hide and seek,
And the riddle solves itself.

Secrets are odd. They feel like weights. Weight above. Weight below.
Weight on the sides. And you walk and drag them. And when
You go fast, exploding down the one-way tracks,
They match your inertia. How exhausting.

You look in the mirror and find that you’re in a suit.
And you have stapled your buttons to your chest and collarbone.
And baby, they itch. They do itch; flash the peace sign.

You can arrange letters to form meanings. And then
A puff of wind will scramble them. And for your efforts,
You have word soup. Better luck putting it back together
At less than 100 miles per hour.

Ah memories, I have missed you.
You were such good company.