Home II

Here it is again
like a butterfly in a ray of sun
flying slow motion
and I´m really here,
or am I not?

It´s that feeling I get
when, if I had whatever the hell it takes
to get up from where I´m probably, what, plopping?
and got my ears into phones
and my ass onto the taburet
and the ten soldiers of my soul
all bursting with anticipation
on the cool glistening keys,
in the place they call
`Home!´,
I think I´d create
something unforgettable.

How can someone
be crazy enough to
pass up
on a ride like that?
And not just once,
but again?
What?!

Biding my time for too long?
Lost in the intent of suspension?
Ignoring the advent of Sir Winter?
Stretching the slomo too far
for the laws that be?

Not caring enough?

Maybe this
is the classic case
of something
better
forgotten.
For now.