In the beginning it was everything
Outside in the cold nails of the rain
we were just between, despondence and maybe's.
Stuck face to face with multiple perceptions in an undying truth.
I was watching "The Station" and giggling out loud
at the self-important fluff
that we call "talking shit".
How often can one witness the pats to a back
then decide to listen a little longer?
No thanks idiot Ma'am,
I'll keep rollin' on
Healthy egos have their place
pompous over-bearing types of self-importance
bloat wherever they go
like a creature-feature, looking away is impossible
rubbernecking at an accident scene.