Treading water,
in a paper cup,
on an escalator,
only going up.
Climbing mountains,
made of molehills,
charging windmills,
of prescription pills.
Watching static fuzz,
on high-def televisions,
scanning crystal balls,
for prescient visions.
Putting puzzles together,
on an elephant’s back,
Adventuring in all weather,
restless sleeping in a nap-sack.
Walking in an endless circle,
a wide arc in the sky,
vultures in a carrion fraternal,
noshing on bone and eye.
Rhyming in agonizing suspense,
for the next line,
hoping it makes sense,
but I guess it seems fine.
Thinking about nothing,
on a nothing sort of day,
while nothing did nothing,
as is its way.
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