Four writers were approaching, and the wind began to howl...except replace wind with bloodletting of words, and ink into veins from these authors blessed and crazed with no other way to let it out, than to put it across a screen, and into our hearts with only pure aim.

Here's the link to the show:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1s3J_TYQqaM

And here are the pieces featured.

https://www.theprose.com/post/828745/king-of-california https://www.theprose.com/post/828053/the-drug-in-me-is-you https://www.theprose.com/post/828235/mile-run https://www.theprose.com/post/828263/the-only-shore

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

The trouble is, you think you have time,

Said Buddha.

But he was wrong.

I know I don’t have time.

Time has me

Running marathons of mindless tasks,

Day after day.

Be here now!

My phone alarm says,

But not in a Buddha way.

I race through the day

Trying to be on time,

But time is always on me,

Until the last chore on my mental checklist

Is complete,

Then I waste time, fill time, kill time

Until sleep takes me out of time,

But only until morning.

I know what he meant, of course.

You think you have time

To do all the things you want to have time for,

But never do.

We all dream of having time.

Free time,

Or time free

Of deadlines and dreadlines,

Worry and hurry.

We don’t have time.

We can only hold it

Like a breath,

For one moment.

Then let it go.

In the night when sleep abounds me not

eternal, ethereal, ethanol, ethical, and etymological questions

my skull aflutter

Opppa, hoppa, the stallion intellect proud of mine

stamps all over the plebeian plethora of pneumonia thought

a mind, oracle, over the above, the up and upper

am

I

hovering above dirty plebs

in such night

Until I step for a hoi polloi glass of water

and bump

with my sprained foot

into my bed

and only

one

only one

thought prevails then,

luminescent overall

Where the xxxk are my slippers?