Bipolar Express

Disbelieving, disheveled, unshaven, and spiritually distant
I arrive in the rooms where everything said remains.
It is good for me to be here, I say, softly.
I said IT IS GOOD FOR ME TO BE HERE.
I think. Why?

No one is listening. The windows are open.
A train is going by, loud and distracting.
It stops, just for me, for I am powerful.

I continue, attempting a connection.
"Yesterday, I spent a breath foolishly, cursing a pedestrian.
So what if they have the right of way.
I have coffee and I'm in a hurry."
Strings are pulled, heads nod, a leg is crossed in agreement,
Others have had coffee, their hurriedness hampered in similar ways.

Someone is connecting. A mind is open.
The synaptic haze is thick and distracting.
The mind closes, just for me, for I am powerful.

(originally written Sunday AM, 5.15.05)
(rev 6/3/05)
Copyright 2005 E. Bond Francisco