paradox is always meaningfully
smiling at understanding
truth has the shortest shelf life
that belief has ever known
recognition is just a perpetual greeter
shimmering simplicity always gets my heart
to escort a clear passage to my soul
I bother with details
even though they forced themselves
into my attention line
when I have projects to do,
I have sheep dogs of concern
deal with the mess directly
when I go out into morning sunlight,
I treat it as a date
in which I'm exceptionally late
but warmly received
there are times when framing it that way
seems too drab
to even bother with comparisons at all
when 'happenstance',
I seem to get philosophical-on-the-brain,
yet feeling wondrously blessed
'I'll be damned',
is me,
drawing a line in the sand with a stick
that doesn't exist
and on a beach
I've never been to
given a courtesy call,
makes me feel like I just came from an orphanage
I've never been to
but yet still I'm presenting discernible needs
a break in the clouds
is like an anonymous smile
in the midst
of a disinterested crowd passing overhead
we all get happy
when a wandering 'pathetic'
is so triumphantly lost
yet sharing with us
in the beauty
of their circumstance
if sunlight broadly present
was not accompanied by
the secret service escort of shadows
I'd be in a slow burn of panic
rooftops in suburbs
hardly ever have anything to say
compared to billboards
that at least make the effort
to say something
wise-cracks hardly ever have the seepage worth guzzling
you went, 'where for the holidays '(?)
somewhere stuck in your body,
experiencing a baffling array of time passing?
give me liberty or give me death,
in the end, how are they different?
when the ghost of the past appears,
refrain from photos, direct conversation,
sidebar remarks, or remorse
you thought you had a good idea,
is when you let your critical mind in
on the internal conversation
you were already having
the end of an outstanding career
can become a bust,
in the commemorative hall
of past's recognition
we truly are the main event
listlessly wandering about
cluelessly looking
for the main event
stuck in traffic
is when timing meets its match
'can't we all be friends'
makes assumptions
that we have spent our entire lives
attempting to disband and deny
in a collective and cooperative manner
the day you got out from under,
is the first day you discovered fresh air to breathe
and a sky that was inviting
don't hold me to the truth,
one of us has to breathe first
and that changes everything about us
I asked to be excused,
as a form of politeness
triumphing over blatant disregard
you keep looking at me
as if I am posterized meaningful to you
what can't be helped
is the view of a mountain
from a molehill perspective
and disease and cure traveling in the same circles
occasionally taking selfies
with those near by
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