How ironic,
walking benediction
on a footpath to Machu Picchu,
poor and starving -
with my beat up flip-flops and dirty backpack,
feeling the Vortexes in my head
Yet, it's just me and my keyboard
(not of musical nature)
and a room temperature cup of coffee.
How ironic
that I stand by "reality is an illusion" club,
(a defense from failure?)
My daily system, just like everyone I know
is Money without fame,
and consumption of cheap goods and buffet.
Sometimes, I want to get naked
in a church.
I want to walk out from my boss
and just follow the sparrows' droppings
(how would I tell the difference?).
I want to tear up my Organizer
and to be more Random.
Just thoughts, always thoughts.
Love is the illusion that I can't spit on.
It's what keeps me Ms. typical.
It's the screws that keep the sun from falling.
So heard of I know,
But it is what is.
Freedom's warden,
so intangible but so real in my mind.
Sometimes my dreams are so far-fetched
but I always go by the subtleties,
within their reach and range,
like pumping for gas and alarm clocks.
for Love,
for Fear.
