I'm 71 on my deathbed back
inside my mother's womb.
I wait to be born into another
world entered through a tomb.

Small men standing tall
wearing giant hats and
medals they can hardly
carry. They feed soldiers
to the war machine like
butchers make sausage.

in the end none of it mattered anyway.
  worry didn't help. wishing was useless.
  prayers were mute pleas to a deaf god
  with animus for every **** one of us.
  in the end it never really happened.
we never existed outside our minds.

3 am in a diner inside of Nowhere
we gather like the dead sipping coffee.
We're lost souls. We love bright light
flickering florescent and neon spelling
our message to the dark night. We are
nighthawks who travel your dreams.

God, may I ask You why we're here?
Was this a drunken lark? Why did
you create this blue marble inside
a never ending universe that teases
us with life and pulls the carpet?
Are we flies inside a jar of cruelty?

Random words coupled together
like a jigsaw puzzle
until they seem to fit perfectly
and ultimately create a visual perception of your thoughts.