The Futile Grab

No meaning here, no meaning here at all.

Observing life in real time: illusion.

Take Flight

Most days I stumble, stumble, stumble, crashing

into these… unthought thoughts. They manifest

themselves like heartbeats, breaths, or baffling dreams,

and like those things, they simply are.

They turn up in my mind’s departure lounge,

hoping to catch a flight of fancy (also

known as a poem). Most of them will

journey no further, having come from only God

knows where, to nowhere else: the nowhere of

ideas; placed and then displaced.

As far as I’m aware, they vanish with

as little will as they arise. Today,

there was a nothing thought; a thought

so nondescript it barely was, and yet

it flew on one of Fancy’s happy flights

and landed safely on this poet’s page.

Farce Track

You give up making sandwiches for Lent,

and thus redeem your soul in increments.

Unrealistic

Sitting around

expecting the world

to make some sort of sense.

Cosmic Ants

Passing the baton of stupidity

down the generations

of deluded

eschatological fantasists.