What has become of us
Amidst the hustle and bustle of city life
When did evolution condone us to regress into a state
Of uncalculated caucus
As we meander our way through the rapids of life

Rapid
Is hardly a best-fit descriptor
For we are past the point of speed
We mill around like headless horses
Buzzing bees
Stinging roaches
Fallen leaves
Roaring lions
Try to lead
But fail
Like cottons fighting breeze

Is this all we are?
Is this what we were made for?
To quickly climb the climb
And await the graceless fall
Parachutes prepared for praise
But our pride prevents and prevails

Till the day I climb the ladder
Shall I not attempt to see
What the view at the top might be like
I fear it enthralls me
But then reality strikes like a maddening blaze
And suddenly I see
That I'm well on my way up the hill
As I swing from bridge to bridge

Is this the way to live?
Uncautious steps with kleptomaniac ease
As we take what we desire
From our capitalistic divider
Though we hate to be the same
Not at all do we differ
Are we not all blinded mice
With a tetra-human vice
Spiders apt at spinning lies
Banking life on Friday highs

All around me boring beasts
Lost to whims, to say the least
What I fear most is the day
I give in and join the race
Is the day I eat my heart out
Just to enjoy the highest gaze

Till then here trapped in the zoo
Enclosure encasing truth

Finding fault with every human till the day I conform too

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
They told her
As she dug her fingernails deep into her skin
Like her flesh was made out of playdoh
In the uncautious hands of a toddler.
Her life balances dangerously on her tongue,
steadied only by a love she will not swallow
For she has been told
“Too much sugar will rot your teeth.”

Saw her after years,
Clinking her glass as
Everyone roared "cheers"
To somebody's happiness
They cared two dimes about.
Marvelling over how her
Hair seemed to finally
Stay in place,
How she did eventually learn
To suffer high heels with grace,
And trying hard to not be
Intimidated by the hint of rouge
Adorning her face, I managed
A "What are you doing here!"
Expecting her to reply in some
Accent or language as fancy
As she'd become,
But oh! Musically she spoke
In a manner as matter of fact,
As nonchalant, as uncautious
As before,
"You know, just pretending to be pretentious!"

Oh you wicked little rebel, I thought,
Gently tugging at her hair,
Loosening one curl,
Try as you might to pretend to pretend!
You're way too REAL for this world.

Sleep does not come easy,
as I lay in place my mind begins to race calculating moments and second spent your presence
But still sleep does not come easy
I close my eyes and try to count the sheep, instead i replay ur words and  wat they do to me...
It is easy for one to pretend something does not exist if evidence of it's existence is missed...right?
Or is this an inevitable lost a battle of the labors of uncautious thoughts holding on to my mind tight ??
None of this seems right!!!....right??
Stop! deep breath bac to countin sheep...smh but still sleep dose not come easy
Am I alone? As I stare in to the darkness of my room I say out louds as if I was to be answerd by the shadows that take shape, giving life to the  silhouette that is u of in my subcountios mind ..are you real?.....

as I conflate the Theory of Me
I slumber in bins and roast my ingots in foil and ambergris.
I strum violas out of tune to embark upon the lost waves
of my errant Muse. I sedate the bleakery
of my human malaise
with a jolt of  “ run of the mill meandering “.
as uncautious as a knave at Court
when the King sleeps and the Jester
cavorts.

I sneak inside my pollution and render the fat of the lamb
as an offering to a clean thought. I go where my ghost prayers
still believe in atoms and atone for my prodigal
calliopes. I Muse against the world that dismals the darling accolades
of Our disquieted Joy Speck. I foam at the mouth of the Ganges
like a Mad Spartan. Humming the Unusual departures
of our mundane perpetual. Our fleet roots to a spot of bother-
on the hem of Spheres, where no Music
is Undone for lack of Trying
to Compose It.

Thunder is how Yellow speaks to Red furies -
dancing in noncanonical Stories
that collapse to a Star
You’ve Chosen.

and all the flamingoes
stop where the sky
UnOpens.

fin.