run while you can

A wisp of undifferentiated nothingness.

Boys will be boys. And Vonnegut will be a cynic.

Our brains, wired such a way,
help us each reach that outcome,
outcomes similar by sight,
sound, smell but, by and by,
by different means, methods.
Be irate or be angry,
upset by sour certainty
(you know, deathbeds and decay),
in the face of thirsty want
for, hell, notoriousness.
Gibber, we are gibberish,
untrained, off-track trains-of-thought…
(I can thank you for that much)
Look here, howling, I cannot!
Boils down to this much, nothing:
Like the third shift daydreamer,
asleep instead of toiling
concocting the escape plan.
Aware of the tempting touch,
in a most Midas-like sense,
that hardens and dilutes life.
Here, here! A hearty ‘cheers!’
to clean clothes put on for guests
that never arrive, early nor late,
because they weren’t invited;
rather dreamt up, vacuous.

You want to know something? The Dark Ages haven't ended. Jeju-do, South Korea. Spring 2011.


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