Swampy morass seeps clouds of futility into the atmosphere,
Evidence of global warming,
A virulent heat tainted by the past,
Stains the *-scape with ichorous silence;
Birdsong replaced by the bubbling decay.
Evil Greatness compels me towards action,
Through profession or negation,
Demanding answers either way,
From a wholly transient me:
The rogue strand of hair, annoyingly subservient,
While invisibly separate.
I stand, unanswering,
To the cacophony of overlapping echoes the Abyss flings back:
“Why, who, where, when, what”
I side-step the intersection of committal and consequence beautifully,
Fleetingly,
With practiced ambivalence masquerading as confidence.
Startled, I awake from monochrome nightmares,
I pinch my cloudy arm,
Uncommitted to existence,
Hopefully Woefully,
“I’m awake?”