Blurry vision on coffin Mondays,
Like that 1980s movie where everyone,
Dressed in black,
Shares a mournful grin
Over gathering for a hole in the ground.
For hopefully a hole that will hold eternal memories.
For the truth that it will not, and the joke that God may make it so.
For each and every one of us.
Let us grab a sandwich after the funeral, to make it better.
Because we eat.
Because we are alive.
Because we must make money.
Because we must kill to survive.
Grandma never knew that the warbler's sweet chirping would spell so much tragedy, today.
With the grandfather clock her husband built; it still stands in the corner of my home,
Keeping time very well,
Today.
With or without that notarized letter and
The 2 Folger's cans as
A weight on each side, and the Rolex, keeping time,
And that moment
Notarized,
and,
My grandfather's bet that it would keep time,
As it did,
And it does,
Since 1979!
So, what else do we need to define the hour?
No matter how far we bury our heads in the sand,
Say no longer me,
Say I am exempt,
That these words do not release
Whatever comes upon me, or
What lies have to bear.
I know that
Bare burdens
Take flight.
So, let us soar.
For whatever lies build in our own minds,
The propaganda
That are not our own,
They are algorithms,
Obviously,
or, either way,
not what we intended…
And, never what we wanted,
But that we could never have prevented,
Had our lives depended on it.
And so,
Take flight
Into the great wide open!
Take flight,
such as
The boy with
The iconic red balloon.
As it tattooed the world
Where we
See
The universe alive,
or,
The mirror.
Where you, by my side,
see myself,
in the dreary gray day,
And you,
At the side of the hole,
Share a mournful grin
Where the pallbearers
Finally
Will
Let
Go.
