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Doing his homework, none of it seems to make sense. Nothing fits. Cooking rice for dinner.

A shoe hovers and comes down gently, just enough to make a good dent. The mound erupts and eyes go out of focus trying to keep up. Give up and look closer to see better, workers carrying kids, everybody on the go, fighting for the good of the colony, god save the queen, all that.

Too bad we're always stuck in traffic. Going nowhere in fast cars on huge black stripes, with overpasses, pick up the kids, rush home, spaghetti, stare at the tube.

Tough these days feeling like an ant but lacking the drive. Life more like whimsy so I stay out by staying in, bubbling.

All bubbling up lately, years come to a boil while I shiver and shake in wonder at the phase change. Too steamed to see, lower the heat and wipe off my glasses.

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Let it be known there is a fountain that was not made by the hands of men
Grateful Dead
(lyrics by Robert Hunter)

CyberspaceORBIT
Kent juggles the universe

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