With the lost thought of what is discovered
And what has been discovered in the past
Which in its turn turns to dust and rust
Don't we all feel that to be pleasant?
Or are we victims to oblivion?
I lack what formed me
And that which formed me is stuck to me
Like a scene created by an impersonator
Designed to get lost but still be etched
I am such an oxymoron
For when I start in one end I don't end it
And what I end is not what I started
Creation of a nation containing sleepless inflation
And here we stand stationed
And we keep on wondering
Wandering around without a plan
But I do not have my comprehendabilator
I never had one
If I had one, I would not know how to use it
And then the words and thoughts and actions
Become something that is not a part of myself
So here I am and I observe
__________________
12 April 2007
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