Get Out

I cant' stand sitting here at my desk anymore. I am breaking down into tears. I don't know what's wrong with me. I have this fear that I won't find the words. I am so lonely. I feel like the air is thinner. I think I'm just going to forget about trying to write poetry today and just take the train into the city. I think I should just take the train. Because I can't get anything accomplished here. Maybe I'll go to Union Square and walk around. Maybe I'll read in the 4-story Barnes and Noble, drink coffee at a shop. Walk around and listen to people. Maybe I'll feel less out of my mind. Maybe I'll just listen to people talk to each other. Say something to them by saying nothing. Look at two people holding hands. Walk around in the waves and listen to my iPod. Restore something to myself that's missing. I don't know what that is. But maybe I'll find it when I get out of this box. I think I'll get lost and jump on a subway line I don't know where it goes, just to go, see new faces. Eat sounds. Chew on other's sentences as they kiss other sentences. Smell the cologne. My body needs to be around other bodies. Like flocks. I am tired of sitting on my own wire, branch, telephone pole. Maybe I'll go to museum, look at art. Stare at other's creativity. I don't know. I just know that all of a sudden I feel very lonely. I can't write anything today. Maybe I shouldn't write anything today. Maybe I should just feel the day. Feel others' days. What are they doing, where are they going, who are they loving? It's probably good to get out of this head of mine. I don't know. What will I do? I don't know.