waiting for the storm

I just don’t know if I can get used to it
time drags on like an old whore
who’ll never leave the streets
and I am here waiting
for another ride to somewhere
for another dream about something
for another laugh to spring up out of me
for another tear to find its way down my face

It’s the waiting
don’t you see?
always waiting for the next moment
planning for certainty
when everything’s uncertain
a dog running across the street
he has somewhere he wants to be
and traffic speeding towards him
a man taking a business flight
a plane crash putting him out of business
a woman giving birth
but the baby never screams for life
and instead the cold silence of flesh
has the mother screaming at death

were we meant to live like this?
waiting for the next moment
postponing the inevitable
with a glass of wine
with a an action movie
with a great book
or a beautiful woman
or a handsome man
or a playful pup
or a song
or a dance
or anything
anything at all
except the wait itself
the next moment
that never seems to arrive
on our welcome mats
but instead arrives
with a storm