The abundant contradiction
Flows unknowingly
Flowingly
From the words of misguided souls
In words we see
The eternity
Of fluid
Lies
From the lips of
Cold settled
Hearts
Contradictions abound
While the wind that moves
Through our lips
Make the sound
Favor folk music
Stories and lines
Mixed up intertwined
Amongst the Nasville Skyline
To the Manhattan Subway
The flavor to favor
The music in the air
Folk music stories
Take me there
A sympathetic facade
For the problems I don’t understand
In worlds unlike my own
My experiences limited
To the places I’ve gone
My external demeanor
With attention acute
As with a scientific procedure
I procure emotions
Detect shared moments
And respond in kind
With no tired hounds
Under my eyes
With time
The faces seem strange
Yet odd
With a distant and cold
Sympathetic facade
Is there space on the bus
Moving in one straight line
In space and time
All along
While the bell rings
From the yellow line
All the way down the roads
As the old chains creek and pull
The linear bus and its passengers
Freewheeling
At last
Such a lonely job
With a short description
A round sad face
In a Rockwell exhibition
With tears at the computer
And no real sign of life
In his eyes
Just trying to make the call
Get by
With a new promotion or design
Thinking now of how to resign
With dignity and praise
For these are his final days
The course bank
Amongst the ranks
Of the young and old
Playing it up straight
Holding on hold
The debts owed
To the course bank
In time repaid
Or confiscated
When the winners lose
And the other waited
Notorious jurisdiction
Makes it heard
A new infliction
Point and moment
Sight unseen
This is what the new world means
Stall exhibition
No prohibition
Problems made
With no resolve
We have to grow
And evolve
Stalling out
Over the holidays
For the world can say
What a great nothing
What a moment to cease
All of that just to
Keep the peace
Red lights at stops
At this stop in the year
The south shore train
Draws near
Blinking in red and white
Double wide loads
As the snow blows
Between the signs
Calling a slowdown
A new year bustles with possibilities
Here
Build wane
Up in the clouds
Near where the rain
Turns to snow
In the waning hours
Of letting go
Up in the lit stars
Among the wires
It looks the same
As when the build falls flat
And the feelings wane
