The Three Princes of Serendip
Swiftly swallowing resentment of play
Acting and dancing to music
Shallow beats and tambourines
There are wild hills full of echo
Mindless ghouls and children skipping through fog
Thick and wet - pouring through my hair
Clever retort from beleaguered little men and women
Rheum, flowing mind, draining into a styrofoam cup
Hot with pulp and grit, my body purges
Life's collar-key broken by bone and rock
I am left alone to wander the plains
Of my self-consciousness.
Something is always missing, always running
Away from hands that will not catch
My eyes are not quick enough to see.