Ridiculous
Going through life ridiculous,
Feeling like a clown on a bike,
All my ungainly limbs
akimbo as we speak.
Facial muscles fail me,
They don't correspond
with my thoughts,
Nor compliment my sentiments.
The words we utter
neither seem to serve .
They run from our mouths
and fall in front of us.
What is it we want ?
Is it accuracy ?
Specificity ? An impressive
appearance of aptitude?
Even our intentions are elusive.
This wanting or lamenting
will lead us nowhere if
we let them run away with us.
Then we'll trip and fall,
And fall again,
Lurching through life
and all its puddles,
Till we come to its full stop.
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