Poetry

Life is not about 1s and 0s,
is not composed of 1s and 0s
Reality is not 1s and 0s,
is greater than 1s and 0s.

This is the epiphany the lost
Haven't had
And it defines the crisis
They ignore
In streams of 1s and 0s
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Hands outstretched pulling pushing
Mouths open sounds telling asking
They walk behind
Staring as you eat
Head down resigned
Eyes linked to feet.

Wishes are beggars
Those vacant eyes
Those flagrant hearts
Wishes are beggars
Those starless skies
Those vagrant starts.

And if beggars were horses
We'd all ride.


Uncorked the past flows
The present diminishes.
There is no future
In the bottle.


Pieces of
Everything.
Perceptions of
Somethings.
Validation of
Important things.
Ignorance of
Lesser things.
Blown tossed and strewn
Thrown up awaiting gravity
They land where they will
In each person's life.
Never the same place.
Never the same time.
Sometimes the same pieces.
Never the same order.
All forming realities
That do not exist.