Who am I?
Crack of dawn,
fresh spill,
Fifteen demands before coffee?

Who am I?
Sport utility,
Front facing,
Five point harness?

Who am I?
grey roots,
saddlebags
tattered unmentionables?

What is this?
Ground hog week,
triple speak,
automatic deduction?

Whence comes this paper trail?
Condensing us into forms,
Sorting us into audits,
assesing penalties?

What happened to 5am?
Frozen in time?
Slow dawn creeping,
into a still-frame prescience?

What happened to days in bed?
Long hours in my head?
To ideas unfiltered,
and consecrated ground?

What happend to glitter clouds,
And living out loud?
To boundaries shattered,
and reality questioning itself?

Where do I find my heartfire?
Art and desire?
The uncharted,
now the lost...

Where is my life lust?
That signature passion,
for this domestic pursuit?
My sense of adventue?

Why is youth so visceral in its wake?
Am I a hollogram to the present,
that I exist in this backdraft,
of moments passed?

How am I consistent to the deadline,
but find myself so unready?
How is progress such a burden?
Why is nostalgia so heavy?