What if boot camp was what it was all about
the pendulum swings and
college slides
down the bunk bed post,
debunked of passion,
penny loafers, worn, on ice rolling
credits shower mortarboards
the newly commissioned officers
grow beards in battle
and salute the retail mercenaries
and baristas in berets
No idea where I’m going
Hunched on my couch with flannel and ‘boggin:
comatose.
I’ve drawn in my antennae (and) vision,
afraid to breathe my words for their heat,
trying to shut out the cold outside and in.
if strength is perfected in weakness,
call me Atlas–once leading men
now sulking alone
with my circular burden.
Passing the same wooden fence
Don’t know the road
I’m on highway 20.
Another thumb appears
could I spare a seat
for I’m lost looking for a sign?
Plenty, yes, problem’s finding mine,
beginning to doubt my confidence
passing the same wooden fence
passed a few moments passed.
See me, sea wood floating
See me, sea wood floating upon the sea
not even a wave asking, not believing.
I believe if I were wood I would see
if I could stop being sea wood.
Hmmm?. well….
No buildings would be formed–
no use, not even fire on the shore
– James 1:6