plan B

superlatives are a form of asphyxiation.

comparative truth wields the sword,

the hammer, the compliment, 

and the throw.

all of the backdrop are gallows.

origin is denied immediacy.

new grapples with what is known.

yet, no moment is new.

all are staged by perceptions grasp.

the narrative is made of crayons,

already in hand.

whatever the page,

it is just a mindset turn of recognition a way.

one can read between the lines

but verbally not color over them.

happenstance is a bystander's ready excuse.

taking credit is like the history of mud,

which wasn't good wet 

but useful, when dry.

audience always has the chalk in hand

and all ears are made of blackboard.

if you had an original thought,

you stole it from your capacity to think.

and now you've made a mess of it,

by acting out as if creative enterprise.

what is new to you 

is innocence expressing in its naïveté.

and its now in the world of recognition, 

as captured.

authenticity is evaporative in the light of day.

where as, all clouds are truth-tellers,

but nobody knows what they are actually saying.

even when it rains,

opinions are the response.

if I had a penny for every new idea or inventive thought,

I would have invented capitalism

and captured or contained all of that wealth.

and converted all of it, 

into power and control.

oh sorry, that's already been done.

okay, maybe we should all go with plan B.

life without expectations

where spontaneity is every moment's worth . . .