I scratch the neon paper with thoughts in my mind-
The way you scathed laboured wood under dim candle light.
Clueless to my aptitude the falsity of what is new
What I know is- You, not you but your marvelous craft-
papyrus paper and pen, quill to bound book.

For time flies forward and never back-
From wood to paper to metal screen, we move.
Though minds collide from forward and behind-
Run away. Run away.
So as we buzz forward we fall two beats behind.

Shaken into structure I stand-
Four quaint pillars my base-
If light burns fire, act or act not.
The foundation of me will slowly break-
For you small thing-
My mistake.

Dazed-
Often dazed-
Incumbent to take and rip minds from heads
Shaken dust rains down onto many-
Swirling untold crowns into a cloudy trance.
Incumbent to step to slow-
These necessary acts of the solemn man

What it means to be full-
To sense the tap of dewdrops on petals
And feel air as a piece of sky. To
bear the torment of expression.
What it means to be full-
To walk from heel to toe.
Knowingly-
We. Us.                                           Human.