This is What They Call Adventure

there's no motivation to be had when june acts like march
(march itself took the liberty of mimicking january)
but that's wisconsin [life] for you
a porch at 3 am is more of a wake up call than the phone pressed next to my ear even though i'm busy praying for the call to hold
the air was filled with the remnants of dandelions gone by
and i'm inwardly thankful that i haven't been drinking or i'm sure i'd cry at the sight of what appears to be snow on an early june early morning
it moved just like snow when it settled en-masse on the street to the left
i moved just like i was still sleeping - only slightly more intentionally -
fueled by excitement and relief in the pit of my stomach
the car ride was freezing - we four avid smokers with impending doom clenched between our index and fuck you fingers, so all of the windows were wide open, spitting cold air and our own ashes into our faces.
the glory and complete lack of censors or whispers of she and i in the back seat reared it's head then - the icy wind whipping around and loud music muffled what they could
that night was an immense modern art statue of a question mark - it screamed "what the hell," but the front seat didn't hear it - one sided tension and slight aggression reigned up there
we kept warm with our proximity and full volume whispers.
then our destination was reached and he and i got out and watched my back-seat-accomplice (turned passenger) and driver drift off down the dark street
a ten-cent tour, introductions to three cats, a dog, and two sleeping roommates later, our feet were on the sidewalk, one right after the other.
we head to a misnamed park - modern art strikes again, though this time quite literally
then tip-toeing ensues and a toaster oven is retrieved from a kitchen with a sofa in it
along with a last minute fire extinguisher and the largest umbrella ever.
clever after thoughts and the second snow illusion of the night bursts from a hose onto unsuspecting cars.
a floating chemical haze is left behind in our wake.
the latest dinner or earliest breakfast in recent memory is consumed
while the rising sun eats the velvet navy night sky alive
a huge fucking knife for safety's sake
a shortly lived stream of consciousness is exchanged
early lives explained
contentedness gets in touch with affection and sleep prevails

and alarms and obligations call entirely too soon.
but we've both got heartbeats, and so our lives live on

moment upon moment, building a new day.