Poem "i do this i do that little bee"

I woke later then I intended to, regardless Fridays are lazier then my Sundays. I pack my bag for the day, taking a mental check list to the things that I could ever possibly need, and also keeping in mind that if I were to die suddenly, what on my person would be worth stealing, and what would people think of me by simply looking at the summation of my personal affects scattered before them on the road, trying to dodge weaving tire tread. I dress in fitting clothing, rolling up one pant leg, applying aluminum free deodorant, purposely forgetting to shower but once again accidentally missing my teeth, needing a good brushing. I check the pressure molesting my rear bicycle tire. And I'm off, listening to poets posing as independent produced rappers, confessing there soul to a rhythm that syncs with the down pumps of my thighs, turning into a coast along riverside sidewalk. I roll a cigarette waiting for the flashing of a man, frozen illumined in mid stride on the over pass of 35. Nursing my back tire over curbs, I pass the place where just last week my weight and speed argued the air out of the rubber, concrete can be very persuasive that way. I speed past joggers lost in stress, concentration, and adrenaline, crossing the river into downtown. I take to the streets half nodding to every spectator passively cheering me on as they wait for Frogger's opening, the other half nods keeping the beat, playing games with the imperfection in the street, attentively inching through red lights, cars becoming large cones that I slalom. I find the bike lane when Guadeloupe turns into the drag, I settling for the side walk and inattentive college students, in exchange for the shattered asphalt. I make my way to the house of spiders. I lock my bike and say my good byes as if I might never see it again. I order a large cup of coffee, and find myself chair in between the few shade less seats. I sit thinking of all the things missing from my life. I take notice of conversations made loader then the background music, and I watch the scabbed knees of a girl with a lot to say, but not much to share. Falling in love with cold burnt coffee, I sit reading about the human stain as curious bee tickles my arm and flies into my coffee. I roll a cigarette, watching the ordeal. I blow smoke just over the rim of the cup, as it takes laps, swimming circles, forth full. Sympathetic, I waste it and jot down the day.

Category:

Entertainment

Tags:

• tubearts
• tubewarite
• newcomposition
• lucas
• mcclure
• performing
• arts
• do
• this
• that
• little
• bee

[lisa5hot]

WOW! Your good! I'm not a proffesinal but Wow!

[newcomposition]

@lisa5hot thanks

[cherylesque16]

I like this alot..I can feel your loneliness in a way. been stuck in my head

[newcomposition]

thanks

[RPozoA]

5 stars... so good, as always..:)

[newcomposition]

thank you much

[newcomposition]

i'm not entirly observatial... but sometimes one needs to be.

[boogerdeeunit]

Dark, like your video. Good representation. It's nice to know how someone who is entirely observational is thinking. That is such a gift.

[AutumnRichard85]

I love this one!! Very real! Its like i can see you sitting there watching all of this unfold! Bravo!!