history is in constant mourning
of all days prior
across a panorama of nothing
that used to be everything
and the mind knows better
than to simply wipe the slate clean –
though, this will be to its undoing.
nobody wants to fight protracted battles.
in such situations, even the homeless
will come to realize their homes.
a pendulum cannot be in perpetual motion
because it gets tired
and maybe also disillusioned:
of wearying emotions.
once assembled and
eructed from its progenitor the spray can,
the aerosol ghost newborns
rises up and dissipates,
drawing envy from weighted earthlings.
tethered to each and every one
is a breathing device which, alone,
already weighs a ton.
all of us passively remembers
to always, in everything,
contemplate what for?
unable to come
to a satisfactory answer,
this becomes a solitary preoccupation
the effects of which i mitigate
by filling my garden with only fake flowers.