Things happen
But not for a reason
Who is able to assign reason?
Emphatic neuroses,
Implied consent,
Delusion of self,
The self of Delusion
Itself (cycling onward)

Peripheral crow
Flies away at odd angles
You think you see something
From the corner of your eye
But the glare of the sun
Interferes with perspectives
Close your eyes for a moment
Try to catch him again

Why are we here?
Why is there a "here"
For us to be in?
Why do those words
Mean what we think they mean?
What does "mean" mean?
These recursive constructions
Cycling onward again

My essence, my being,
My stopwatch existence
My pantomime chaos
My flyaway crow
The cars in the driveways
The shoes in the closet
The mass of humanity
It's still the same show....

I suppose is up to each of us to assign ourselves 'reason'... or not.

I like it Lex

I was reading the other day about the black holes, apparently they're not, they have runaway stars in them, roaming aimlessly. Earth would be far better placed near one of those, considering your poem. .
The other part was about gaalxies/ universes colliding and there were pictures. That night, gazing up at the night sky, felt the same exact way. Eons, the mountains on the horizon, there before we, and a flash, long after we're gone. we are but a fleck of dust in some giants eye, and yet moan and b*tch..it's all not important. because tomarrow you won't be here or there. Funny, we simply take our lives way too seriously. Go. Look up and out tonight. Makes ya feel pretty darn humble, at least it always does for me

I've asked these questions before

ohhhh Lex it's Saturday night...I didn't wanna think tonight!!!!!

I was at the Lake County Fairgrounds when I wrote this on Saturday, sitting in an old gazebo on a hill overlooking Fancher Lake. They're setting up for the Lake County Fair which starts on Friday....

Sometimes these thoughts just appear out of nowhere.....!

(What does "nowhere" mean?)

Dig the poem, Lex.



The last stanza, especially, is really killer.

"nowhere" is that place defined in what is not gazed upon,
that which lives in the views of everyone.
Yet NEVER seen by ANYONE, just a space between here and there, that lays right there for your eyes to magicly appear.
Some would say they have'nt a clue, some would say its as visible as clear glue.
I call it my hidden space, you would call it your peripheral vision.
But this is why we all have surround sight as our reason.

Just being ME Lex,,,wink,lol,nice poem man...

I agree with Plastic!!! Writers always question, don't they?