Change
is change changing,
always
on the move
but not
sensory obvious.
We
claim we are from
the
land of metaphorical depiction.
We come
equipped with still cameras
called
event synopsis 'evidenturesomes' . . .
This is
our method
for
being abruptly confluent
within
our presumptuous terms
of
self-assessment.
We
address the world
as if
it were just
an
accommodating side-mirror
to view
our elocutionary selves,
stationary
as we zoom by.
As a
solipsism,
across
the man made borders
of the
material plains, it pervades . . .
Language,
as our closest guardian,
keeps
us myopically in check.
Atrophy,
as the verb,
is our
most sacred religion.
"Nows"
get no further
than
the king
of
Lego-land pronouncement.
We all
stand in long lines of logic,
tongue-tied,
waiting to get in.
Milling,
of all kinds, as we do,
has
social media potential.
"Rock-on"
is
a
quantum interior mountain
yet to
be consensually named,
much
less collectively climbed.
Reincarnation
has chapter endings
with
next chapters as start-ups
titled
"other books".
Soul is
head librarian.
She
never speaks to anyone directly
yet
accepting with her eyes.
It is
hard to have your book overdue.
Literacy
seems to come
from
computer screens of all kinds,
in this
fast paced current world.
Crossing
into the inner plains
is an
urban myth as a falsehood.
Identification
of self
as not
already there.
This is
the prank that plays
to time
as we are
an
appreciative audience.
We are
all dynamically happy
by
varying degrees
and
thus vacantly applaud
with
our means of meagerness
called
suffering.
It is
all ambiently dynamic.
There
are no comparisons.
Each
breeze poses
in the
face of man
as this
symbology caters
is our
snap shot existence.
Living
and dying,
we are
skip-stones in action.
Which
by contact is which?
And
from where did you hurl?
(varies
with each person . . .
see fine
print,
between
lives lived . . .)
Change is
change changing . . .
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