Pardon Me, Is This Seat Taken?

As to conforming outwardly and living your own life inwardly, I do not think much of that. - Thoreau

stuck between two worlds

walking a narrow balance beam

moon pushes and pulls

tide jumps and answers

polluted river babbles gobbledygook

music lives in the moment and knows nothing of the past

i hear the chatter at well-manicured cemetaries as i speed by on my way to nowhere

lean technology does everything while brainless people press buttons  and click plastic mice with fat fingers as they wait for lunchbreaks

congregations of fabric softeners on soap boxes preach to dirty ministers

jesus never waited on hold for a live person at the cable company or filled out a tax return

poetry written on tree trunks is chopped down

that written on clouds evaporates

i run my fingers through time and tears

swirls of fantasmic emotions and seeming reason are picked up and delivered by amazon

memories erased return in a spider's web

am i alive or caught in another dimension

confused and self-righteously dead

Author's Note

"I had not lived there a week before my feet wore a path from my door to the pond-side; and though it is five or six years since I trod it, it is still quite distinct. It is true, I fear that others may have fallen into it, and so helped to keep it open. The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity!" - Thoreau