swinging in the breeze

There was hope and there were pieces of rope
There was the rain and there was the sun
there were salmon pools and there were cesspools
It takes a while for the eyes to focus and distinguish the differences

Rudderless on the sea , on the shore Yossarian in a tree.
Calculating for currents, giving up disgustedly,
and getting back to it when pushed out by the quiet and the sunrise.

there were trifles and then came the rifles and the ridiculous reinventing agony
and there were moon beams in a hammock in a dream
swinging in the breeze

Friendless and fender bended
and befriended with time to spend it
spotting the spot lights and forgetting everything that was taught
hearing the acceleration of war talking trash,
making machines out of humans
the din turning Earth into sin city of the universe

if you could get the astronomical perspective
like maybe get out to the space station and if you could maybe keep your head together, what with being all bundled up in a space suit and drinking all that space juice
and getting a realization that lo and behold , the flesh has been made simulacra,
similac to mother's milk.

And happening like a heart attack in reverse:
eyes longing for the day and the perfect temperture
for paradise moments that came and then were gone and then came again.
A process to pray for or to speak like a free person in a theatre for,
or to eat and drink and draw another breath for.