Dissolutus Logorrheus

Knowing or unknowing,

each pallid day decays

to deadlines, traffic delays,

to listless hours’ thoughts meandering

to no conclusions, to groggy

memories and dreamed delusions.

Blinking or unblinking,

these neon signs bequeath

riches of this lurid dystopolis

where mystics, cynics find salvation

in materialistic peroration.

Loving or unloving,

mothers of modern men

wait for the unweaned to begin:

trepid the lurch toward meaning,

contemplating the various roles,

oblivious to happenstance stuck to our soles.