Treadmill Musings

Equilibrium is death.
How do you disturb toward the edge
Of the chaos where answers lie?
Sunday morning sidewalks
Suggests Johnny Cash.
Or maybe it was another sip of beer?
Why would a straight man
Pretend there are multiple reasons
For him to stop by a gay bar?
Wonder if I can wear those pants in the back
Of the closet, in the next-size-down section
Of my lame attempt at organization.
Will the sweat pouring off my face
Cause a malfunction in the wiring of this treadmill?
And how would forensics explain that one?
CSI is a good show
But gross.
Now I’m back to death,
And my time here is done.