Could "You" stand the thought
Of who "I" might really be?
Or is thinking just not easy?
Is reflective thought just fleeing;
Instead of seeing what a well adjusted reality might be?

"I" won't change the ways
Of static servants
Cursing the waves
They were born on.

In singing, "I" would take the wrong key.
In adventuring, "I" took too many arrows to the knee.
No Justice. No Creeds.
What "We" projects, is at best fleeting.
Mapping out the moon
For a swooning future
Greedy for every last inch.

Backed into the corner
"We" are all in
The same kind of pinch.

How are "We" going to deal with it?

Stars blinking
Billions of God's eyes
Following one another across
A mostly vacant sky

The Moon smiles
Perhaps this is God's fingernail
growing for days until
It gets clipped

A slippery *****
To crane a neck
Staring out at
The distant explosion

Were these eyes meant to receive such an ancient light?

Some pace this planet,
feeling so empty,
a heavy hollow.

An unknown creation
for things we do not know.
Unspoken by words
however absurd,
rambling continuous thoughts
resists a black hole's circular reason.

For things we do not know.

This world where our feet rest,
a faithful foundation exists.

How careless have we been acting?

Ah! The ecstasy!
The solitude of a Saturday night.
Just another sighing twenty-something single nobody.

Ah! The revelry!
Anime plays to chase away that lonely feeling.
The original soundtrack of beer bottles clinking.

Ah! Such splendor!
Vaults of immaterial wealth being squandered away.
Time itself could make no better an enemy.

Given up hope in humanity.
Easy come, Easy Go.
Do I know not of their suffering?

Welcome to my Cave of Healing.
Spontaneous self-expression is a key
to the container that is so hard to fit in.
I'd write with perspective if mine wasn't broken
or if anyone could really know what one is.

Eager men gather, a coalition snug in fortuity.
“Do” is their sentiment.
Vacant economizing is their doing.
Incorporating crisis trepidation intended to conceal true dealings.

A lofty story, nebulous and misty, cordially faces jeopardy.
Equality is never the aim for the uneven.
Humor them though, to their caprice show them what it means to be upright.
The uniform have no battle to fight, like the adage of the sage.
Both ponder in delicate hesitation, is this the moment?
Do I advance?
Do I relapse?
Have I any recourse at all?

Doubtful in whimsical inquiry
wishing to elevate such a state quickly,
be pleased with assumed explanations;
without debate, such a reckless undoing, will enfeeble us all.

Where we live it is no desert for the rains still fall.
Where we live the cacti stand tall,
proud and green Men and Women
defending rocky slopes of heaven.
Where we live the bat flies with the nighthawks,
dog fights at twilight against hordes of insects.
The lizard and snake fear a Greater Roadrunner
who laughs at passing cars, for it shall outlive
The Petrol Race centuries forward.

The Sunrise seems like The Mountains'
live birth to a bright blazed star.
The Sunset bombs a horizon
filmed with faraway layers of dust.
The milk cloud of stars and cosmic debris.
The Moon rising, a pale beacon beyond The Mesquite.

Another day lofts some new journey forward.
Another mixed-maze-colony of choices being made,
some painted on walls in ancient caves already.

Carved tree trunks stand.
Influencing in mad mysterious ways,
kaleidoscopic proving ground for the mystics.

Another cigarette **** kicking in the cement ashtray.