Smile

Where do you go
when there is nothing left
when there is nothing more
than a cluster-fuck;
a mirage of thoughts
that never get better?

Tell me, please do tell
Because after years
of embarrassment, it seems
there is no-one there
to change those thoughts.

There is only you,
yourself, and your mind,
who can rightfully withdraw
from the lackadaisical thought
of becoming something less;

something less expensive,
something less attractive.
For in our own lunacy
we must regulate
the enormity of fluid

which governs pluripotent stimuli.
Oh you ghastly ritual,
how dare you slip
the tongue when there
is no-one there to see

what a treacherous mind
you can be?
Oh Riddle me this,
riddle me this!
I’ve done the math

enough to believe
in a self that does not grieve.
Would Jesus-carpentry
spare the earth
from the cosmic-floating sea?

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 07.03.09