In a round-about way,
Holding more than we know,
As we’re skipping
Below the surface
Of time;
Wound
Up.
Down
With the beat
As our feet meet the street,
To then be carried away
And to say
What comes to mind.
Adding to
And neglecting
All the same
And different.
Apparently unapparent,
And sifting
As if we know something
More or less conceivable
For the moment,
As normal evolves
Unabashedly;
Collective progress,
As it were.
NOT FOR RANT 