from a random sketch/writing pad

Familiarity in each stranger's face
am I insane?
My memory faltering,
my senses opening to strange beyond
underneath your material guise, you're my friend
my past and future friend.
Only the present then,
is an illusion.

But in every science journal,
I read the opposite
frequently the sacred texts
opposite too.
How I am to trust my senses
listen to my breathing
feel the tightness of my muscles
the dizziness in my step
the queasiness in my stomach
if the underlying, music, is too beautiful
for my unperceptive ears
the truth so magnificent
my eyes blinded
by its flame
either we are one,
or, I, am insane.

She says "That's the dude... getting rid of his war anxiety in Europe"
and I picture me and a half dozen others
roaming lit streets
in old towns
they drunk
me joyful

How distracting it is
to sit here waiting
always a book or work to keep
me company, but despite my
stated purposes
I come here for you.

And see you in chatting lips,
across filled tables,
what is it you're saying?
and in cheekbones
jaunting out from
Books, I want to know about.

Find in curls and locks that hide
your eyes for a time,
and in your fancy boots
that have their own story too,
and in postures
which attract but,
don't show back
temptation.

So here I sit,
waiting on glances lit
with not just light
but question,
For I know my own have
signaled forth, to every
woman present.