I type my way through the abbreviated world
Eat my ham and cheese on split top whole-grain
Clear my throat with a bitter latte
Reason with myself over my very existence
And still fight to understand what anything means
It seem to happen so easily and innocently
(For other people that is)
If there really is a God, why did he make me crazy?
I guess in need to read again the Tao
Where the answer is no answer
Where the purpose of a vessel is its emptiness
Where…oh well.
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Every day in some lingual fray I empty out my cup Words struggle to fledge over the ledge I try not to interrupt
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