How when you drive
you never see what's passing by-
too busy and preoccupied,
anticipations filling eyes.
Windows, caging what's inside
mistake, misjudgment, and misguide
through accidents and crash, survived.
So now I'll walk a hundred miles wide
through autumn's sleet and icy cry
just hunger, bones, and dragging hide;
exhaustion wrought from want to try
but destination, rest, will dry.
How far must I see to believe?
How deep must I breathe to warrant screams?
How often must I slice and stitch until I kill myself bleeding?
Confusion breeds still confusing;
inevitability of these thoughts comes creeping.
But all the universe existing
is all a single life, forming
and we are each what it's doing-
a map of monumental suffering
from clipping wings for flight, left fluttering.