The question begs
Why perform an action
Not conducive to motion
In the direction
Of your desires
My will is sleeping
It too needs to rest
Only now occurring
Is the thought
That I’m being bluffed
It’s fatigue
When I need catharsis
Instead I change seats
Unaware of the facts
Random stochastic acts
My internal logic
Is wired backwards
Approaching chaos
Then I hear the voice
Of the ex waitress
Choosing another seat
Her words having been elsewhere
Navigating a torturous route
My senses tell me
What was that?
You want to sit with me?
You’re new here?
There is no communication
I get lost in thought
Trying to pinpoint her accent
villemél 