I look out
hoping to be calmed
by an evening in transition
forcibly removed from the experience
stuck behind the shingles of a barrier that compels me to
return indoors
unfulfilled and indifferent

In my chair I am denied
the presence of movement, the echo of life beyond my own
it sits until replaced
by boredom or misuse

I fear it's not the only product
removed and unfazed
putting weeks on the shelves
passing poison for purity, choosing machines not maturity, selling fact from obscurity
striving to straighten the imperfect wild
pointing fingers, avoiding blame

I know how it feels to walk a path
forged by pines and ranting rain
there -- as I move forward
gone -- as I turn back

I look out
hoping to still want to see past
the view the deceives me
the view I've been told repeatedly
is what life's all about