satisfaction's mirth

satisfaction lives 

as a conclusive state of being.

a surmise of self 

as if status has worth.

satisfaction is not hearing the hounds 

at the door of the mind, 

ever listening.

hounds are all the ya-butts, 

barking into recognition's range.

satisfaction is nothing more than relief,

broadly stated as merit, 

removed from subtlety 

of the intermittency of chaos.

memory takes a vacation-photo

to pitch 

at other points along the turbulent way.

how does a look in the mirror of living

ever come to conclude 

amongst the ongoingness?

satisfaction is a false deliverance as means.

living is not for arrival at an ambient state, 

as the suitable construction of surmises.

yikes, are all movies of self 

about proving one's worth?

satisfaction, as external proof of being ,

is a hoax.

it is, 

as if living the fountain of life,

is ever looking 

for a mirror of reflection . . .