You Are Here

Everyone in the world is so desperately

outside.

Nothing to expose at all

and everything to hide.

Nothing, to enjoy,

to, everything, deride.

To, every day, deploy

alternatives, never to decide.

Sailing blind on open seas,

yet fearful of the tide,

and looking always to the stars

but deaf to direction from the guide.

On ink-smeared pages, waterlogged,

I thought that I had spied

a reason in the nebulous fog —

incredulous, I peered inside,

and what, there, should I see?

Merely a precursor to the reversal

of that berserk, overworking circus circle.

A glimpse of future clarity,

a dare to be unhurtful.

To charity, to hearts of purple,

to pairs-to-be, to art eternal.

Just a ticket to that ride.

Just a dot on a directory,

just vague knowledge to be applied.

And I hope beyond hope, with every step,

that the story hasn't lied.