I as a backstage pass

I wear the face 

chiseled vainly out of the past.

I stare at the future 

with ever present eye-clarity.

experience is my imperfect bias

that has labored me with method-syndrome.

where is my realist 

before this sensory overload.

what makes for a clear insight 

going forward?

how does one translate the truth 

of out anything?

is truth, for me, an agreement or a creation?

either way, moments as music, 

keep me listening.

I drink the water of experience 

but not know that I am truly thirsty. 

I am the ever-change 

but think of myself as a constant.

what are the sins 

that conclusions make us own?

I fall down inside of my projection 

to the world.

frail is not a weakness 

but an altered state of presence.

there are times I have no face 

for me to appear as.

I am supposed to be, a stance, 

a position taken

but I am a river of feeling 

and the we of me, 

doesn't pose for mind-fill selfies.

there are times I hardly have a person sense.

the collective of us 

is so underground present.

when did the world become 

so much outpost personage in presence?

I liked it when we were a sea of beingness.

maybe that was just childhood 

or just after birth.

we, going forward, made so much up

that the pretend is a fill 

of person-occupancy.

we are all top-heavy 

with distractedness ongoing.

life is falling forward 

in a balanced sort of way.

stillness use to be a collective in presence.

now everything is a word in edge-wise

now I am all faces posing as stress dignified.

I have no answers, 

just mediation ever forward.

what is with us as a species?

it appears, we are a wack-job 

at togetherness.

and we wanted to be the species 

at the head of the class?

for humans, when is wisdom 

more than humbling?

there was a time when we were all of light.

then we became lit candles 

in the fear of night.

now we are batteries 

on infernal mind-sight devices.

we go by a, double a, triple a, b, c 

and dubious d's.

liked it when we were 

before self-wick invention,

before shadows became so meaningful 

as script,

before say when was a time inference,

before idolatry became 

a personal inheritance.

now I wear an 'I' as if 

a backstage pass

and wonder. 

where did we as audience 

all come from? . . .