While traffic glides by,
the world exists without him,
streets convey a certain
awareness of time,
everyone in their own
on their own,
wishing to somehow own
a world creates their
emotional windfall.
A simple streetlight
stop
pause to be forcibly reflective,
bricks look the same,
all the eyes as indifferent
as a young boy picking up cigarette butts
on a greasy curb,
ignoring the eyes
for now.
When does it all take shape,
what is the actual time frame when
we all become part of the cycle of truth.
A sunny day,
arise to the notion
of guided practice,
we’ve felt this energy before,
know its pleasure,
what’s in store.
Imagine
