Pivot points and reference points subtlety disguised as harmless bric-a-brac escape my comprehension until I either stumble or land on one or the other and ponder the affect. Realization that much of my life’s contentment hinges like a door shocks me, though I don’t know why it should. Isn’t it the way of things that it all turns on a whim or at the very least hangs on fine gauged calculation? I am not the capricious vixen I accuse myself of; I am however human and given to a certain amount of fickle fussy frenzy which all reckons out given enough perspective and wit.
Line up with the next movement
Get the universe into the sprockets of my desires
And make the miracles flow in my direction
Ah, The boy scout merit badge of sobriety
I force spiritual alchemy through the pasta maker
Of my small life
And where is God?
Where is the realness of reality?
Where is my place in this hairy mess?
Well, who knows
Am I the Wizard, the Chemist?
The mechanic of the galaxy?
Though I wish and hope
In truth I am not the one who calibrates coincidence
I am the receiver of.