I lost my larynx...

methinks. I've been scrounging for it in replays of fabulous days that don't wait for my nostrils to dilate as I pass through moments of glee or collapse with my deep sighs on blissful moments, but just keep rushing past. And now it's almost automatic. And I can't find my larynx.

When it makes a meager appearance, it can't keep up with the speed of recaps. Soon a fresh burst of sores clog it up. Words come out searing and difficult. And I let myself be lulled by clippings of zipping on gorgeous roads with a person I hold closer than close.

And when exhausted of doing those umpteen trips, I allow myself to be gnashed in a motley mess of squatting commas, periods due for eviction, and narrow straits of dictated strains and insipid creativity.

Manual work. Shoveling bodies and parts in Lebanon. Or building. Cleaning the gore. But Red Cross apparently takes in only American citizens. Tsk Tsk. I'll settle for a lift operator. Shuttling up and down, I'll be limbo-happy in that damp, dark, musty box in a void that comes in fragments of unpeopled moments gradually growing in humidity and sweat swirls churned by the buzz of dust laden rotors.

Half the time I’m reminding myself the means to an end is just a means. The remaining quarter I let the means seep in so deep that I’m running out of time. The other quarter is reserved for those flashes of nincompoopness that laughs at its own dilemma likened to a sticky Turkish sweet that wont give. And then it swears that it wont let me be average, seeking safety. It’s lot like the East coast undercurrent. The water wallops you to the shore and the sand underneath drags you in. Clawing and digging your toes into the loose wet gold grips you in a tantalizing fear. I know I’d love to know what happens on being dragged away cause like someone said at the end of every fear is freedom. Blank-out pills help blot out all the striving that takes to be average and wanting of a world with routines, a world that’s staid and flat. But a few grains of sand have gotten under the seams, and can’t be washed out. I’m folding that bit up and stitching it up double.