W. Doug Bolden

We all want to catch as catch can. We all want to fall and then blossom, mid air collision As though it was everything. We all want heaven, and naming it Hell. We all want disbelief And hallelajuh instead. We want monikers, and great big nicknames. We want salvation to come in 32 random flavors. We want sidewalk chalk to spell out our life line. Whimsical syrup, and too much wasted time. We want raspberries to taste just like limes. We want two hundred, and then fifty million more. We want our numbers ridiculous. We want "never satisfied" to be our motto. We want to wake up and it to be tomorrow. We want to sleep in yesterday's bower. We rise up and we shout out "Come on, this can't be real!" And the days pass into the nights, pass down into the fields where the sunsets collect like dew, and spread into a lake, warm in the summer, cool in the fall, freezing in the winter, a wonderful swim. We want to stop this, we never get off. We are doing the quiet moments as best we understand. We want to stop this, We want quick pause. We want forever, in the palm of our hand. We want to slow down we never catch up. We just hope to catch as catch can.