God what a
balancing act
the news ringing
out in siren call
cutting through
static air
complacency
it’s too much to
compete
with whatever
else is going on
fulfillment
before the desecration
the ground we
walk
you and I we’re
stuck
in a place where
novel concepts
are worn like
thinning
tread on the
bottom of our shoes
every morning the
sun
casts an eerie
glow in shadows
glossing over
all sense of
urgency and sedation
no one gets what
they want
here – everywhere
else the world
dies off around
us eroding
it’s banks and
rotting
where the water
cuts
a line in
sediment’s stain
drifting across
the periphery
wafting across
our vision
the road to hell
unraveling
increments
paved with
feigned nobility
soiling its wear
in cracks of the soul
intentions creep
in
and wear
resignation eating
from the inside
savoring
flesh of the host
Matt Mauldin
2/2018
Santa Barbara, CA
Originally appearing in Another Way Round
https://awrjournal.wixsite.com/anotherwayround
