LOOKING FOR RHYTHM / FINDING SPEED

I walked around all day
looking for the rhythm;
tossed up old memories,
like dust heavy rugs,
but there was only
small change underneath.
I ate lunch early.
There was bugger all to eat.
The tomatoes didn't help.
The toast offered
that subtle consolation
of perfect melted butter
on the tongue.
Greasy pleased, but uninspired,
I exercised,
hoping the rhythm of feet
pumping pedals to a height
might excite some creativity.
There was none of that
so I free-wheeled down
the other side
like a drunken lunatic:
forty four years old
and fuck the consequences.