Through what strange porthole do we

    Drag our outsized dreams

    All the while cursing its size

    And not the size of our schemes

What is right and what is wrong

    Unruled by the heart

    Vaguely menacing headlines

    Parading news as art

There is order in the forests

    Though no king or queen abides

    We fear dark hard silence

    And the mute in life’s asides

Outside margins there exists

    The right for us to grow

    To a fullness that disturbs the gist

    The city’s turbid ebb and flow

 Pare not your life to other’s whim

    Live the largeness of your dream

     Ignore the porthole its jagged rim

     That rips and disesteems

For me, I shall look for clues

    Sometimes a lost endeavor

    To a freeway sign – not a ruse

    “The worst ancestors ever.”