.
Total chaos is the world's default
position, Babel is the only language
whenever too much neglect, squeezed
into one past, is the culprit.
.
What we see is not reachable
and so we dream by daylight as
compensation for under-acquisition.
A real touch is scary and makes
us leap as if a ghost had visited
to suddenly lay icy ideas upon flesh.
.
The world shambles onward
with and without us. The soap
box is in splinters, all the great
orators take a pass, and no one
sings the old songs like the old
groups anyway.
.
Pain is in the head and in limbs
waiting for recognition. If a glass
of water helps alleviate the hellishness
of breathing, will an entire pond
cure the disease permanently?
We hold close all our illusions
where in which the elusive goal
poses as hope.
.
allets
05-13-17
1055a
.