Chill I am repeatedly told as if
It were so easy to reduce the temperature
Of my emotions or to slow the kinetics
That propel me perpetually forward
I need space for the blazing heat
That warms and fires and
Combusts the engine revving and whirring
On the serpentine streets of my dreams
The machine does not have cruise
Control nor does it possess a speedometer
As such precision is unnecessary when
One travels in binary fashion stop or go
Top down along the coast with a
Partner alongside is a common idyll
That I share if we zoom curves and
Cackle as we narrowly avoid a seaward plunge
SCUBA provides a portal to a slower
Ecosystem shifting and adapting to the
Currents that I swim against and blow
Through my tank forced to surface
I aspire to the laconic gait
Of a surfer and would not mind
The hair either, those flowing
Golden locks signifying peace
The juxtaposition of a raging
Ocean and a sliver of fiberglass
Mounted by a preternaturally calm
Being is an engaging dichotomy
Usually I am the wave or at least
Being crushed by one as I grin
And choke and relish the saline flush
Of a solid lesson taught for eons
Frozen water being my milieu
I am nonetheless running hotter
Than Hades as the friction of my
Steeds melts the crystals beneath
Wind whips with a bite that excites
My smile and carries my proclamations
Everywhere and nowhere such that I
Speak louder and pretend that helps
Movement is a bulwark against the
Chill and a reason that I cannot embrace
It although I can avoid hypothermia
And the complacency that I fear more
Restless I still do not believe in resting
When I am dead because that seems like
Perhaps too late and a bit silly since it is
Likely that the afterlife is a helluva party
Searching for the yin to my yang may help
Slow me down but I also think it is possible
That I need another yang so that we can
Discover chill together or at least burn out trying