we plagiarize the word love as we toss it around;
imbedded in a molecularity of its own,
a specie that oils the machinery;

from conquest to indoctrination, we spin
a lifetime in our measured distance, our
history, ever-so, a small part. still!

then it becomes fluid as words transform
us, we follow along the dusty trail. hapless
as third grade kids chasing the early bus.

a journery of life spent on the Midway in awe,
gaping at glint, not seeing the unseeable;
our life appears a river, rapids are always ahead.

hang-ups heavy as a tomb, a separte catacomb,
we begin to nestle soon, like a dog paces in a clockwise
circle three tims, lieing down on the fourth.

10/06/2011

Author's Note: note: there is no grammer error. i take license to leave out so-called helping verbs.

Posted on 10/06/2011
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan