its just another day ,
the day they all know ,
well enough to cast it in a cage .
regular enough to become the scheduled prisoners .
guilty as charged ,
its passed off with a silly smile .


channels of truth ,
paths to momentary understanding ,
they criss cross an ensemble of intangible depth ,
the fall they say ,
cannot be measured .
but it can be felt ,
it may or may not be seen .
uncertain as the dark room itself ,
familiar with memory ,
but it weighs down ,
casting its imprint on the sands .


when you see some of them ,
the darker shades ,
highlighted under the same old sun .
lines come to the fore ,
separate and distinct ,
broken and twisted ,
an instant unconscious choice
not to follow these fading colors .


forgetfull little bright balls ,
they roll on their bellies ,
always up and running ,
they make that noise too ,
it pierces the air like an arrow ,
and you know .