Pockets of Clarity Ebb & Flow

1. How to add to the ongoing conversation that is
web-like over us all is a question. Or subtract,
pare down to an essence of something.
Information is not knowledge someone once said
I’m sure. Leading, lending itself
to definitions, and the observer is the decider
I guess we could propose

as long as it doesn’t touch the nose
of all the observed that pine for retribution
to be started right after the next
commercial frees them up for compensation.

Package deals abound, just check the travel sites.
I’ve been to Greece in my mind, never Carolina.
Taylor never trumps Elvis or Memphis, but
I digress into subterfuge and list wanderings.

The clock ticks on, the birds clatter in their cages.
The dryer tumbles with buttons ringing
staccato changes to the invisible music that
Cage talked about. More fuel for sloth, etc.

Are we about to leave the tunnel entered some
administrations ago? The casual lack of truth
still seems to hold sway. The light is all fluff,
no substance. Parking in the vast lot drains one’s reserve.

Cue the studied attempt to really care this time.
I’m lost being elsewhere while here most
of the time. It’s compounded by all the
acquisitioning of what is truly empty.

2. Discernment leaves you unprotected. Please return
as the brain explores. My thought on this vanished
across the street as the wind ruffled the vintage oaks
into a friskier presentation. The day continues,
lightens up our looking into matters, like lunch
and which beer really gathers the mental chatter best.

Out in the distance trailers of clouds form-up
in huddles, traverse the emptiness that this time
lacks any other story. We’re overdue
at the bubbleworks called work. There the artificial
civility reigns supreme. Daubing on our “make-up”
we love the repartee that passes over the clientele’s heads.
Although trivia pursuit shouldn’t be a career goal.

Ah, but all this is invention of a sort. Sometimes
it is integral to the failing light
that holds out a promise beyond understanding.
The music returns again, fuzzing the vents
and off-shoots of plaintive study. What
proposes a finality to these suppositions is
left to your mind completing the numbers,
the colors, the whole panoply constructed
even as we all go on with our less than complete lives.

Fanning the radio dial driving away creates
unintentional stories that are part of all
our consciousness add to alluvial packing
of the frontal lobe. I’m enjoying
the break from my own self-created distress
signals and merge with traffic south.

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