...And as we move,
so too does the mind.
Shaped by divergence.
Rendering the oncoming landscape
for our poor pathetic little mind's
to comprehend, whilst true,
natural fertility is shed,
dropped to the ground,
recognized as little more than
detritus, lost to the process
of reconstitution.

As interpretation seems to be prone
to spinning, so too does our willingness
to become dizzy. Blaming disorientation,
never lack of focus.

Only what's in front of us can
slow the onset of nausea;
instead we choose to consume
the calamity, pridefully ignoring
its immensity.
Finding ourselves bent over,
heaving up what's left of the carcass
we're all devouring.
Giving back to that which we all spurn,
the nutrients of survival.

I can't stand the made up plight of man.
The maladies we allow to
overwhelm us daily, simply because
the grind, the acceptance is better
then the stand, the resistance.

All I see anymore are walking effigies,
doing as they're told, becoming exactly
what they were cast to be.
Succumbing to the malevolence
of playwrights whose power
only exists because you've given it
to them.
You're becoming their form of social
interaction.
Now you're stuck between two cameras,
but you can't be bi-focal.

"Faith needs no form of refuge."