Cigarettes the color of boredom, job satisfaction three point five.
Fear disguised as ennui, delayed plans, more delayed planning.
Notes written for plans that only flatter.
The realization that heroes are humans, that superman was mostly the latter.
Shattered conceptions of family and placement,
post-self realization, choosing fiction over non-fiction,
choosing fantasy over history, the future over the present.
A productive exile manifesting in a worldly love,
contemplative stares, not melancholy, but filled with wonder.
Recollections of pasts and blunders, cascading waves of rolling thunder.
Invisible tents pitched deep in the forest of the mind,
groves of happiness laced with embryonic vines of lust, do make us beast.
Utensils make us civilized, we terrorize not just for feasts.
Contractions, head aching, trauma,
while we birth a future for the soulless and Lama,
Lama? It is like anything, a switch, switch it on, keep it on, don't replace the bulb.
There's a brighter room outside adjacent to a tomb.