Giddyup

Not until the lines on the edges get blurred
not until they're waving and bending
                                            calling
When the bright lights go dim
when the colors fade
the sounds fizzle
                   trickle away
A pain
a twitch
a puff of smoke
unsatisfying
    swollen
The little piles of time lying before me
things gathered together
unorganized stuff
used but not broken
wasted
    chewed
I think of my bed
the things I might dream of
the process to complete
the movements
still my feet stick to the ground
stubborn
     glued