Imagine burden 
you know 
that weight 
heaped upon 
your shoulders 
what if
it was 
placed there 
so that 
you and 
no one 
else was
able to 
carry it 
what of
this weight 
then maybe 
it’s feather
or flake 
and nothing 
else really 
than that 

It’s interesting 
that people 
do walk
through life 
immersed in 
the fiction
of mind
absent to
oblivious of
the life 
they live 
either they
don’t like 
or would 
prefer not 
so they 
write and
cast themselves 
in the 
role of 
their lifetime 

We are art
each of us 
some are paintings 
others a drawing 
I a doodle 
in another’s noodle 
not an afterthought 
more a garnish 
something to tease
maybe even appease 
a thing enjoyed
either before or 
long after later 
but never then
for that then 
belongs to another 

Each day new
every day fresh
noting little tickles
and gleeful things 
plants new blossom 
snow on deck 
chill in air
things made aware
not seen before 
sleepily we walk
room to room 
mind far away 
what if we
when we were
there we were 

And yet it
is but fingers 
and not feet
that claw one 
out of whatever 
inch by inch
forward not back 
to somewhere better 
broken and ground 
down be nails 
for they know