Flyover state of mind



Released from the ground
Sick spattered walls washed and the guilty
Sent away

Country boys living in jet seats
Uniforms and injuries
Rhythm pushes the drone through new landscapes

Somewhere a troll charges toll
How we earn a whole new world
Subscribe,ransom, set up the pashas tent
Pick a muddy field, a closet, a men’s room
All these jobs posing as something else
Games are anything but
Jobs are anything but

Creating something with unseen goals
Employed to do one thing, making art on the side
Historians in stage blacks, selling memories and memorabilia
Our experience becomes the R&D for others
And the weaning process for our own future

Out the window, in the distance
The dancing lights of the lampago de catatumbo
Far off in time and space
Another planet, another heart
A soft silent sigh of shared song
The toxic fumes of man, of earth, of woman

Fly over state of your own history
Toll paid, troll fed, what to make, what to make
25 years is time for many buildings, children grown
Cars junked, canals cleaned, new streets for art and traffic

Still here, still wondering
Still more than a few steps behind what moves me
The push, the pull, looking in the wrong direction
Often gets the ire and the occasional perfect shot
When not obsessing over happiness or self destruction

Still writing about the lights on the hills
And the sound of wind and surf
The lines cross again and again
The words wash up on the sand
Or fall from the sky blessed and undiscussed

The fleeting lesson probably something simple
I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam
Can I be content with that and sleep
And dream
And dream.