When we tire of simple things,
we become washed out by predictability,
in a given moment, we lose track,
hoping somehow to find our way back.
My eyes flutter in the open ramblings
of an afternoon coffeehouse; my ability
to navigate conversations is whack
of foggy notions, and energy I do lack.
If you could step inside my handlings
to understand the world has this fallibility
I am just one of the tiresome pack
of lies in a valley beyond our follower …
There is nonsense in that reactive release
when all we desire is only a lonely peace.