How Is It So

how is it we look into the future using only what what bends our fingers with all the assumptions that keep us on the daily throttle but less than safe hidden from each others' true gaze by acts of will made default by time in a lost ignored numberless realm where mysteries remain so again and again by acts of blissful ignorance again and again where reports of divine grace such as it is make us into dwarfs and desire slaves to what remains unknown as a likeness the foray grappling with marginal results and the fully human remains unrecognizable an arc of bad marriages to total strangers raising eyebrows with less and less ferocity unable to indicate against supplication with nature a reservoir of miscalculation the singular premise any way you slice it imitating ideals instead of becoming them presuming to be authentic and illuminated yet just another cheap suit serenade for any fool who thinks that it is theirs no one to blame just default monkeyness learning by watching in odd degrees of detail variations precipitating into good and evil how much minutia can your frail self handle in an arid weed patch of modern standards 5 pixel image in a totally pixillated world steering the hallucinations the self-annointing to the Crown Mapmaker's jigsaw mosaic many many more than a few pieces missing pregnant with the inertias of history judging our thoughts with cartoons wondering if the knowledge of tomorrow is an ambulance ride or a gypsy jingle how is it that we are the future