Happenchance sparks with no matter who, waiting for love to arrive. To anyone, here I am, longing, as long as I am alive.

It is the present now and at noon yesterday, it was the present then. When noon tomorrow arrives, it will also be the present. The present is all there is.

I'll carve a special little niche, safe from the perils of life, where I can make a place for hope. First, I need to find a knife.

Or, am I inconsequential to it all? A random, forgettable moment in your delicate, pastel existence?

Shock no thinking just decide. Rage from nowhere down inside. Sensing ruin, cannot tell, kill the threat or run like hell?

Afraid of nightfall closing in; the lambent god lifts my run. Flying now on Icarus wings, cannot help but chase the Sun.

Reach down deep and draw a line. Continue thinking, walking tall. The problem's theirs, never mine. The insanity of it all.

Even the happiest fall prey to the plastic, the vacuous virtual. And some little voice keeps whispering to us 'There’s something wrong here.

I'm grasping for some sense of alacrity and the compulsion to perform in a broad way, before life's random curtain call retires me from this tired satire, this comically absurd play.