Waiting for an action
to counter the anxiety.
Waiting for a clue
to avalanche towards answers.
Waiting with bystanders
breeding a numbness.
Waiting as pauses with pitfalls.
Waiting without incentives.
Waiting with no inclinations.
Waiting for organs
to degenerate and die.
Waiting for any permissive greed
to flood onto the scene.
Waiting for indulgence
to seize a moment in time.
Waiting, lost into a way of life.
Waiting as edges and efforts
and emotions solidify
into wearing a sickness as a smile.
Seeing the monument of wait
in a stone valley of time.
Waiting for the geologic column
to wink back.
Waiting for time's sweaty palm
to shake mine.
Waiting,
for the metronome of breath to end,
with an opened mouthed breath,
on a toc. The t---o---c,
that “k" sound of toC,
out of the last breath’s end
on that “K” sound,
then flushed and faded.
Waiting for the mind focus
to follow, in full dissolve,
as if the end of the parade of wait,
as if the gargantuan parade
of wait’s end, were near.
To the end of that parade,
with last band, last float, last toast,
last drink drunk,
cup down, tossed and crushed,
last partied player asleep,
last horse's tail flicked
and fodder gone,
last sawhorse and pylon
packed away,
last bleacher disassembled,
last trash can emptied and stacked,
cash receipts counted and banked,
last time card punched,
the last person to think it as now,
totally complete.
Over and done with.
Gone.
To know waiting,
the life filled with waiting,
is no more . . .
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