“its gotta be about something”
looking at the his hands
Not looking at his hands
Simultaneously
“meaning. Maybe it’s a wall we can’t pass”
“maybe, but probably not”
Both looking at their hands
Both not looking at their hands
In a single motion everything acts
Exactly the same
Without touching a hair
The world reacts by feigning non-action
Or so he thinks to himself
Or so he is tempted to try to find common ground
About with
himself
Authority withers
Descends into the hubris,
The hermeneutics
Of cloudiness
Blocking UV murderers as they penetrate
The green
Giving way to life
shuffling from one plank to the next
Chased by shark abandoned pirates
Gyrating with a million eyes
And patched knees
pre-given to falling
Into the ground
And becoming the delicate, long, finger pink brown worms
that work their way up,
their way around,
their way to a path
A moving from end to end
Traveling without traveling
Just traversing a span
On repeat.
