They say the beat goes on, and on and on. Sometimes it doesn’t. At times it’s not there and no matter how I try, it’s gone. All that I do is a slog through wet cement. Things that are ingrained in me, that require no thought, misfire. It’s like fighting to put it all together.

The fork drops, the spice jar lid won’t go back on the thread. The glass drops, timing is off, things burn. The beat is nowhere to be found, not to be grabbed onto, not to be slid into.

The beat has gone on!

When it is there it’s like a well worn shirt. Things you do in the beat just happen, when it’s not it’s like being in a conversation and all of a sudden running dry. Only to stare off into the distance looking for random words in the sky, so you can reach up and pluck them to put into the desert of your mouth.

In the beat time is a fluid that disappears into an underground tunnel only to surface when the beat slows. Mostly the beat is there when you have good people around. It’s in my heart and theirs. Ìt synchronize’s

Sometimes my beat is strong enough to carry others along with me.

The beat…