Anything Poem by dan hightower

It seems to elude the throng
Those searchers for immediacy
While somehow it slaps me happily
And guides me from the treachery of assumption
Pleading I hear in whimpers
Distraught disgust of debauched militants
Purveyors of certainty in their wombs
Now protracted resignation ensues
The glory fades to another less worthy
Less deserving anyhow
And I sip slowly my remorse
Watching all the time for an opportunity
A drunkard falling off his stool
A slap heard by the few being attentive to the room
A fading black streak down a face as it leaves the ladies room
A slur
A stumble


Anything to tell me that now is my time…