impromptu prose time

There was a time where I would get anxious in my wandering if I didn't visit the ocean at least once a week
A time where things weren't clear if I wasn't writing about sexual deviance, foul play, incompetence even
Where writing was only a blur that needed extension
Now fears come to me in self aware visions
And again in coherent letters
But now a days I spend more time on the streets, less time barefoot grounded lazy week days
And now a days you see me only scurrying with complete destinations like " How do you do, Sir, and how can I please you?"
And still now, I sleep in increments of 3
And the downwards moping lamp shades on hazy zig zagging streets join me in my thirst for sleep