she stood in shadows like--
like a ghost at high noon.
falling invisible and rising in prestige.
he sat on a hilltop
(the sundial's position means little now)
and waited.
she would spin her wheels
SHE would grind her gears
in the mortal-and-pestle
where humanity is punished.
(or is it?)
when do i figure out where i'm going?
when will i remember where i've been?
this cyclical world that we cycle upon
has lots of pretty parks
and pretty parking lots.
why is sitting sill so much more pleasing to the eye?
(but is it?)
i need to succumb to these biological functions
necessity takes up so much of my time
is today for a purpose?
or does it mean nothing if i don't share?
nothingness: a cave of hidden potential
substance, an misguided misperception
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