common sense grossly glossed

the common sense of a mundane life

gets to be wall-to-wall grossly glossed.

it's like speeding trains passing by

and I am in a terminal of wait.

can't even venture a view of stimulation.

my senses are wearing an overcoat,

as if I am in the winter of thought.

experience is as if biting cold,

yet I am possessed with a here-to-there mentality.

I want dance

but there is no music.

I want eye-charts of the unexpected to view.

someone to hold me at camouflaged gunpoint.

and say,

sense this, sense this clearly or you die.

and I am falsely heart-pounding,

faking a realism that awakens me.

fantasy shrapnel will take me down

if I don't deeply, inwardly respond.

sure it is a self dialogue made conversational.

but I need pep-talk self-interjections

just to stave off the overwhelm of glum and gloom.

I feel checker-dulled 

on a chessboard of expectations to respond to.

complete sentences, even in my own mind,

are useless as an effort.

sure I like sound, sounding,

but the lip service to make words is gone.

it's my fantasy to eat the menu

and never even ponder the use of a meal.

I could get into my car,

pretend travel,

and eventually discover, 

I have the perfect parking spot

as the highlight of that journey.

I am so downright dirty restless. 

I would do a rewash,

instead of the sensibility of onto the dryer.

my spirit is sky-high

but my brain is all bare knuckles scraping ground.

and reality seems to be a brain campground

with the absence of play in the profound.

I can't even come up with a next thought

that has any contrast of edges.

I am salivating inner mouth complaints,

as if to spit some truth out of it.

but no flavor or impulse arrives.

so I swallow the alarm

and labor into next moment's next thought,

as the common sense of a mundane life,

gets to be wall to wall grossly glossed

in passing . . .