Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

A dry martini or an India Pale these are divisions
to our thirst Ordinary faults mean cracks
in a sidewalk, in us they could prove fatal
we cling to them like bad lies during soft times
we are curious and lightly chuckle.

Some mornings bacon for the fat other mornings
skinny insecurities Hold your breath
count to ten little Indians What a mystery
this betrayal and when we don’t Alzheimer’s
chooses us and it lightly laughs.

Depending upon DNA age is no guarantee
of a missed train Settle in Everyone wants
something We all cling to the absence of light,
not to the penetration of our coming darkness.

heavy words......where we are going?.....might as well be where we came from?.....answer is........nobody "really " knows.....dont you just love the mystery

Existential poem at its best.