i sit still
as the world
spins beneath me
the scenery designer
grown bored
as i race
the same train
brick red
faded blue
graffitied white
i am on a loop
or texas is
i cannot tell
i just press down
on the accelerator
and wait to see
if the hamster
running the show
or i
have a heart attack
first

life is not
a race
the finish line
is the same
for each of us
yet we don’t seem
to realize this
until it has
passed us by
we are the tortoise
chasing after
chemical hares

everything is dead
i feel the drought
in my barren soul
the way the blighted
brown slurry
over saturated
the land
in all directions
just blue skies
and yellowed stalks
even the scrubs
are wilted and sad
all while the sun
demands our sacrifice
to her molten avarice

i lose miles
lost in her smile
my heart skips
a tightly wound
spring against a
worn brass gear
will the scenery
continue on
this mobius strip of
rusted trains
and sallow harvests

too many thoughts
anchors tethered tight
to the terror stricken
mind of misdiagnosed
maladies
aflush with
all the wrong chemicals
running ever in place

god is a hamster
we serve as
little more than
distractions
as it waddles
ever forward
yet growing
no closer to home
heaven is the
woodshavings
beneath the holy wheel
where we cluster
bathed in the
golden showers
of divine indifference