figure on a mountain


From world milieu ourselves withdraw

The funds of individuality

All wrapped in dermal packaging;

The brains and bones and guts and blood

Conjoined for sensuality.


The membrane skin with holes for ports,

Where sense and substance travel through

Responds to pressures in and out.

It isolates the point in time

That splits the old off from the new.


This point in time that indicates

Where I and eye sits through the storm

To sift, select and designate

The matter and the energy

That gives the world intent and form.


It seems to choose the way it goes,

But choice is made with motivation,

Not random, but conditioned by

The structure made with past constraints.

No fluke, but iron instigation.


Therefor this witted witness rides

A steed it can’t control, subdue,

Through tides of time on lines of space

Down destined avenues to race.

Merely, just a point of view.




One thought on “Outlook

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