left here to fiddle with ideas
as they're passed around
like some bottle; emptied now
we sit and wonder what's left
to pass through our heads
as we pass time thinking.

thinking in lines and in reason
out of time and just right for the season,
we're lying through our teeth
as the man comes down from his seat
where he sat, watching our lives unravel
and resembles the great mystery
that we're all looking to answer.

there's not much left of good time
or of good placing for this all
so we sit and wait, watching,
crawling with some strange desire
to set everything ablaze; start this pyre
and send the whole idea to its god.
somewhere, it's watching.

alas, ideas begin springing forward
like a well dug deep in arid earth
to feed the dry landscapes and minds
and to figure out what anything's worth
in this twenty-first century run-down
idea of what an idea should sound like.

and we keep 'em coming back for more.