In my youth, I pored over arcane
manuscripts, in the vain belief
that I could comprehend
But now illusions have superseded
all my dreams, and like my neighbors,
who oscillate with their pets between
the parks and their houses,
all that’s left for me is vacillation
and quotidian repetition.
When I have a choice to make, I freeze,
because I lack the mental wherewithal
to filter out the noise, to prioritize
a prompt decision.
Caged by my passivity, I’m waiting for
a celluloid dream, a planetary reshuffle,
a personal message from a translucent
stranger who’s risen beyond living.
I blame my life’s mistaken directions on
invisible psychic forces. As the whales
and the bees are guided by geomagnetism,
I’m susceptible to the aether,
and my fallen thoughts,
with no trace of
doze off on
I relate to no one and no one relates to me.
People are a mystery, and I’m available
for any suitable position.
The Purpose of Reality illustrated short story and poetry collections from Meerkat Press, with pretty fair reviews from Publishers Weekly, Goodreads, Aurealis, and the like, available on Amazon and at other outlets, click for details including reviews.
Belief (no AI in the creation of this art video). Evolved by the Visual Evolution Engine, my software that seeks unimagined realms, with cyclic nonlinear desaturation. Art and poetry also on Instagram.