A generation of fake excitement
making end days is rich irony,
unless you are buried in excrement.
it's hard to laugh in that reality.
Funny though - closer we get, farther we are;
far from being one - barely know how many -
the flaw being this: many can't see that far,
most picking a nose, waiting for mommy . .
And we all know that you can pick your friends
and your nose, but cannot pick your friend's nose.
At collapse we'll see how far our being bends,
where if noble, seen by the one who knows.
My guess is our cosmic hiccup, while grand,
is best seen from what we do when we stand.
jts 19 March 2014
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