Drainage

It's like falling humidity somewhere between sewer drains and my conscious knowledge of everything that'll need to be done. With repeated swallowing and choking up of the same words-in the same lines-across a plain of roads driven. 

Feelings of so much more to do, in so much less time, like the projects will crush below the drainage line of social lives. Pressure. Expectation. Sleep that never is enough. 

Sometimes I've got to shut it down and walk steadily away. Steadily on one opinion?

Could the car keys guide themselves, the conversations forget themselves, & the hours change themselves? Then maybe I could pick a point.

But there's something like dowsing rain, running between the crosswalks. 

There's a chill in Baltimore that's approaching-it freezes over from Bayside summertime; the hot vacationlike nights (the ones that whisper still, though now in draining volume). 

There's the lonely smoker on the city corner, outside a window of the couple sharing a firelit table. While all the inbetweens/fakers--alike, their fingertips and noses grow red with the chilly wind.

Waiting crowds, lonely artists, get ushered into heated venues and coffee-roasted places-in boots and scarves. Less lingering. More air to twitch and shiver. And wind. 

And that's Baltimore, as it's more sad and inspiring self. 

I think I'm always excited for it. There's eerie moons, and warm treats, there's hauntings and new clothing. There's change.

((see previous blog for weekend events)))

Daily headphones: DC fellas Crash Boom Bang's song "It's Only Me". It's a bit slower than their other tracks, this one's got an alluring touch of echo and oddity to it.