the blessedness of each moment

each moment builds upon itself,

then is immediately covered over 

with the experience of it.

audience is about pastry styles,

icing as storylines,

and tastebuds that taunt us.

is truth ever fibrous?

but most definitely chewy. 

work is swallowing the day,

for whatever is served.

I spend most of the day

picking up mindsets 

idly left in the shadows 

by the minute hand in passing.

backstage is real

but resoundingly inappropriate for display.

I get my read-lines while I sleep,

wake up in character.

eventually realized 

that the director is a schmoozer

and hasn't got a clue about what we do.

sure there is a script.

it's about as useful

as the bible or the yellow pages.

life is one of those audience intermingle shows,

where selfies and autographing is a given.

yet care initially appears as optional,

which depends on how self-conscious you get.

theatre is good,

if that is your calling.

lots of the act-outs seem disproportionately stupid,

but theatre can become spontaneous circus,

and no one is off script to react otherwise.

this all started out years ago as education,

but then the socialization took over.

facts now come and go.

some are collectors, while other barter and trade

and the rest saw the playground as learning.

I'd give the teeth of my eyes to get real,

but we don't have a swap meet for that, popularized.

sure, you can have faith.

you can have doubt, selfishness, caring and concern. 

those are all script-worthy themes.

personally, it's like the dead-walking through the day

for many.

I don't even remember how to talk off-script.

whom am I going to ask for a line?

understanding is now a malaise of existence.

living is a disability of self-conscious pursuit.

there has to be wack-gems out there.

but they are hard to come by 

in a spontaneous meet up.

if I found one,

I would volunteer to become a traveling band.

it might look comedic from the outside in,

but honestly or should I say sincerely,

it would be zestful for the moments it lives.

inwardly it would be 

a barrel-roll of expressionless laughter.

my heart would zing. 

I could tolerate all of this

if my roll cast was such.

straight up and sincere is wearing thin.

is oddity ever mutating?

I have needs to know.

this traveling through life is very bedouin. 

at this point, my herd of nothingness wanders.

I really need pastures of full-emptiness,

a place where earth and sky exchange vows,

where heaven is more than billboard exposure,

where talking is all of the murmurs of spiritual recital,

where bowed heads is wisdom related instead of age,

where getting it together is not of physical consent,

where genes worn is not a clothing issue,

and where each moment totally understands 

this illusion of time . . .