A lingering perception
of a reality stuck in pause
--is this art
or are we just awakening
from a cliché dream
with petty morals
and the safe chance to try again.

We shouldn't have to start over
in something so simply stated
to love is to triumph over elongated cycles
of not knowing yourself
as proof to the universal factor.

All is one or are we all individually together
stored in a safe house of an imaginative world.
I drink just enough to call myself sober;
you smoke until life is a complex revolution
of disarray and anonymity, like what our children sing about
between the lines of a note never sung
or after the breath that didn't make it.

What if the world was flat?

And what if it never stopped raining.