Your plan says: turn left,

okay, your feet are walking --


and then you turn right.

those pensive ones
as they seem to me
birds on the wire
gazing this way
     and that
lost invariably
to their ennui
their melancholy
their obliviousness
to the point
some may say
     pointlessness
of their existence
in these moments
without reason
or incentive enough
to prompt one
     or the other
to take to the wing
embracing the bluster
of the ever-blowing winds
rather they sustain
this idle malingering
waiting listlessly
for that which none
can know

For each moment we live
the universe gains a sense of meaning,
an explanation of the origins of life
on this jagged sphere pummeling through the devoid
at an alarmingly quick rate.

We are the reason the universe exists;
if we were not here to view the stars
that line these dark skies,
would there even be a sky in the first place?

Is the infinite possible
if we were not here to decide?

Is consciousness the premise of matter,
or is there an underlying meaning
to the point of this all
that supersedes our infant understanding?

Is there truly a concrete precedent
to establish the groundbreaking ideal
that we are alone in this vast expanse
as we eagerly await the impossible?

I gaze upon this world we know
and come to find that, instead,
we reign in a world unknown.

--------

Man's gotta do to be, no se?

Who tried to contain your little mind, conserving things,
when America was great, like in Disneyland.

Take me aside for a pep-talk, exactly
as one might imagine, no lolly-gagging …

Peace in patient repose, supposing your
prepositions are herein, exposed to the air
we breathe, and can, by common POV, see,
from ground level through eyes located half way
to the moon,
Alice, to the moon, a social reflux
from the drunk juggernaut's dream… typical crass buffoon.
Mensur proven class.
Given a taker's disciplined mind, a priest can form a king thing.
S'true construed to seem the way the rules is writ.
Hell been formed by men with ****** scars, long before
Victorian mores,
let holiness be declared, ratio
to rank in the time of the Magne Charta, nicht wahr?
Heads held high, stiff upper lip, think like a stone.
- or be as happy as a pearl in petrified pigshith,
kings are imaginary things, built, not born.
But the taste of the order in battle, earned.
For the might to rule, the feeble folk
submit, allow the lie to tie your children, using
chains you forge, being either really you,
or are you spirit, come to guide the guardians,
to holy sacrifice, seed of Nathan Hale, taken to
total AI universal soldier in a New York minute.
Inspiring first principle, lad, proud to be
an American,… got me 3rd place,
behind a future Major, 2nd place,
and a future Nuclear sub Captain, good Mormon.

In real novel events, universes where Miramar,
belongs to the Marines, who practice East Mediterranean
Air War tactics, around Yuma, semper fi, and always ready.

Sad state of mind to pretend to hold true, in the instant,
its your trigger to pull, or your turn to die, it happens,
all the time, life's not worth killing for, really,

the mind of the soldier can so easily mime Bismarck,
and hear Stonewall Jackson sing, "every puppy's got it's day"
- squint, and put the sun at y' back, what better way.
Charge.
A royal burden being discipleship, the lieutenants,
at least the lieutenants, then the sergeants,
all the little plastic men, lay down to pave the way
for the tanks, and the tanks took Tinnanmin Square
***-toks of the looks on the faces
of the entire race of kings and priests and servants
of the temple guarded by the most loyally conditioned,

the Devil Dogs, they proudly call them selves, semper fi.
Fi, is faith used to tie us to our task, are we not the few,
the proud, the brave, or
are we mere hewers of wood,
and drawers of water, oh lad,
without any noble pedigree,
become the athletic supporter,

who has not vowed, if given the chance
to stand firm for God and country,
with the boy standing on the burning deck, in values deep

enough to stink
of underlying rotting bodies of brave enough lads.

Oh the things that my eyes have seen,
the many places walked I have been.

Upon peak and trough did I roam,
rarely knowing a place called home.

So many turnings along my way,
passing on through to seldom stay.

Staying as long as life allowed,
more times alone than in a crowd.

Beautiful faces that came and went,
both good and evil sometimes sent.

With words sometime of the softest kind,
echoing shrill calls yet within my mind.

Words once soft now turned to stone,
where faces vanish until left alone.

Upon road so full of twist and turn,
until a heart can no longer yearn.

Corners met that were never turned,
unseen paths that were never learned.

Future's short path left to travel on,
in time memory fades and it too is gone.

Things I was and all that I saw,
gone forever through the closing door.

How long then be there just a trace,
that my soul and I ever saw this place.

To dust and particles we all will decay,
those once met too will just fade away.

Until even memories of all are no more,
of a life full lived that no one even saw.

I’ve slept in church
that must be when
I missed the answers.

“When will Christ return?”
I asked, waving my phone,
“I have this handy calendar app.”

"My child," he said, putting a
fatherly hand on my shoulder.
I wiped it off, like a spider web.

I’ll never get to heaven,
I lack the plasticine
malleability of belief.