Monday, October 17

a sitting search

to sit and search, to type, to scroll
with cursor in hand,
the lazy afternoon exploited
forgotten are the gilded pools above the earth at sunrise,
potential and love and harmony and unity
and all that seems beautiful
in theory
where, waldo, are you?
walking among men meant to hide you
content, or smiling, never to be found
a passive and sweeping search is made,
knowing you're not lost; you're fine, you're fine.
a sitting search and cursory glance
a type, a scroll.
a type to fit, this square pegs the round whole
the cursor, the pointer,
the typing, the scrolling,
the recreating and shaping and forming,
the never fulfilled sees the ever content
and cursing, and poignant - where, where, waldo are you?
alone, alone, and with everyone else
surrounded, sufficient, eye on a lens and cane in hand
to see with, to lean on, and scrolling - no - strolling.
and all that seems beautiful, seems enough for you
in the lazy evening, accomplished and fulfilled, somewhere.