The Root of It

i often look for a foundation.

something to drive rebar into.

and although i do love to  f  l  o  a  t,
i sometimes find that i'm at my happiest
when i have something to anchor to. 

my brain can trick itself into believing
is vastly important

whether it really is or not.

it doesn't matter.


there are also times in which,
my brain loves to humble itself.

do you ever experience that?

when you're own mind
rips down the willow trees
and lines your guts up
with the center of the crosshairs.

for me, it happens a lot.

and it often takes a whirlpool of energy
just to keep it from traveling

to the abandoned strip malls of civilization.

those places were desperate mirages of meaning
once stood strong
and my sense of purpose had enough fuel
to push my body through the day.

the usual.

the god damned usual.

and there IS a BUT...

as i get older... i seem to become less and less worried

about purpose and meaning

and i've found that the matters concerning such dense subjects
generally just

w  y   t e   e.

and when i scrape away the poetry,
and the shell, 
and the drama,
and the glasses from which i view my surroundings

it becomes clear that the only thing i really want out of life is

to watch the world move, peacefully,
and enjoy my brief moment in time

with the people i love.