the illusion of control …


… so, life happens,
our infinitesimal plucking of strings,
somehow brings,
an idea, a glimmer of hope,
of control, an illusion really,

of just sort of kind of knowing on the whole,
just how the paths we dream up, are to be tread,

and so,

we weave, we dance,
oblivious to the fickle whims of chance,

we joust, parrying jabs,
picking at wounds,
scratching under scabs,

seeking this, that, whatever,
speeding on highways bound for never,

wearing our hearts on our sleeves, baring all, unashamed,

emotional sentimentality fluttering amongst dead autumn leaves,
starkly transparent,

yearning for that early ache,
that wondrous sensuality of synapses, sparking,
inflaming that early rush,

leaving me numbed,
in my shallow sewer, impotent and dumbed,

wasting away, lost in the well,
where no pebble ripples back



(got to let the cat out for reasons only the cat knows)


so where we,
before the cat’s bells began to tinkle,
thankfully not toll,

ah yes,

the illusion of control … …

for Dr. Carl Sagan
1934 – 1996