once, the days flowed like liquid metal
through shadows iron-cast in twilight.
i was left only to recall an image of strangers
tending to pianos playing endless into night.
back when a gathering collects quietly around
a monument to dead heroes of empty wars,
i got lost and strayed off the wayward ways
that marked the path to question-marked doors.
 
whoever asked about non-existent answerables
stood naked to a veiled census,
standing alone when unknown handles became objects
of intolerables to the misinformed senseless.
he did not drop tears with the metal clouds
that often accompany a social death,
only to echo endlessly the same song
that's still carried on the same confused breath.
 
like a story of an innocent traveling experience
giving birth to wisdom and knowledge,
while the scabs of pains digging into the skin
as one pushes himself slowly over the edge.
futures fade as free will concedes to programmed cells
to perpetuate the evolutionary sinkhole,
to the end of liquid stories waiting to be retold
again of a life lived far from normal.
 
so i got lost and strayed to stand naked
in the presence of the birth of wisdom,
as the same futures become the same monotonous beat
on the same monotonous drums.
i have to feel content living in the liquid drama
or learn again how to feel,
resigned to a choice already made to live content
in my shiftless world unreal...