::02:22:08::

::: Your Tongue Is Not A Toy :::

I.
Two lazy hens
With no where to go
but here
out here
where the planes fly by
overhead everyday
and everyday and everyday and everyday
the cars, they come and
they go too
no one pays attention
anymore
the wind chimes
chime in the lassitude
they know, they see, they hear
that is
when none of us can
when none of us have
patience.

II.
They simply cannot be bothered
with needless nonsense
Wasteland decorum
Bleak House miseries
those who have not forgotten
Leaves of Grass
green vibrance
breathtaking freshness
enlivening warmth
colorful fallen leaves
crackling beneath footsteps
during an easy stroll before
the sun descends
or the silence of snow
in the darkness of the night
that blankets the morning
with peaceful white beauty and
clarity.

III.
And why wouldn’t something
like this really count?
It simply cannot be
swept under the rug or hung out to dry
like old soaked and wrinkly linen
left out and forgotten
only to waste away
serving no purpose
day after day
contributing to the vacuity
of menial existence
within societal barriers
driven by motivations
acquisition of power
blind dedication
nevertheless, not all is lost
there are still
sweet dreams.

IV.
What a moment when
like lightening, life flashes
quickly and without warning
only to vanish instantly
becoming a memory
a part of something
that once was.
And where does it really all go, really
when no one is paying attention
during Hard Times
searching for New Directions
and Reality Sandwiches
con Tristessa
beneath the panopticon
of our lives
ever watchful of
the trespassers of
limits.

V.
Thinking is forbidden
past this line
quiet conscientious regards
truth never speaks
appreciate the obscurity
the mystery
the solitude
the impression
breathe deep the injustices
the industrious odor
sulpheric rotten eggs
polluter of dreams
like bad blood
circulating and re-circulating
doing damage to all
places it travels
weakening defenses to
poisons.

VI.
It’s nothing new
yet, it’s not old
universally it exists
all throughout, endless
like the sky on
a clear day
it’s as serious as
a deep wound
but as lighthearted as
a fluttering butterfly
it’s loved, cherished
loathed and degraded
it’s ideas, thinking, desire
loneliness and togetherness
smiles and laughter
it’s everything and nothing
it’s mostly just like
floating.

Written by: ~ The Floater