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
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