there is such great art in this place we inhabit
but for a blink of a moment
it's on our walls, copied or true
it pours into our ears
it drums our heart
how can we not SCREAM
as I pass you in the street
drinking this in
soaking in sun
the places we're going may not be great
aren't great
but that BLEED of sound as we pass by each other
staticy howls of bliss
in THAT world
is where we should be
HOW are we HERE
instead
as the sun beats down
the cicadas purr and whine
and vision narrows but to a point
how are we here
when there is such great art
the moments past, I fear I've lost so much
of what could've been
on this track, my track
as it slows to a rumble
cars on rails
ba-dum... ba-dum...
till I sleep, till I face the eternal
nothing of note poured out these fingers
no art - no great art
and what was it for?
but to be a witness.